


Something Old Book IV: The Master

by Ducks



Series: Something Old [6]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-08-14
Updated: 2001-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 129,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ducks/pseuds/Ducks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new vampire King in town.  Actually, a couple of them.  Plus an army, an old flame, some more of those pesky prophecies, and some lawyers. All of them focused squarely on the downfall of the Slayer and her vampire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Demons, Lawyers... What's The Dif?

**Author's Note:**

> In addition to the usual endless parade of Buffy and Angel characters (I could never bring myself to kill anyone from the shows in this series), I unabashedly lifted Deacon Frost right out Blade and used him shamelessly in this fic. I don't know if that counts as a crossover?

Lindsey McDonald was not a squeamish man by any stretch of the imagination, and still... his newest client unnerved him.

He appeared to be no more than 23 or 24 years old, tall and lanky, with short, unkempt light brown hair that stuck up in carefully cultivated spikes in every direction. He was deathly pale and heroin-gaunt, with sharp, odd-colored eyes of an unnaturally light, piercing gold-green that gave even the jaded lawyer--who had worked with some of the scariest creatures in this dimension--the creeps. He managed to capture every inch of space in the room with a swaggering bravado that befitted someone with an ego the size he was purported to have, and the combination of looks and attitude gave their meeting an air more like Lindsey was representing Rock -n- Roll royalty -- a member of the ultra-hip L.A. Trash Elite...

Rather than a creature who was, arguably, the most powerful immortal on the face of the planet.

The Prelate of the Sanguinati called himself Deacon Frost. No one knew his real name, either from when he was human, or any of those he had taken since he was turned. He was rumored, according to the dossier, to be some 800 years old or more--by far the eldest of his kind that Wolfram & Hart had ever dealt with. As a rule, the Old Ones kept to themselves, uninterested in humanity beyond as a source of cheap labor, food, and twisted entertainment.

Frost, however, was different -- a forward-thinking vampire with an eye to the future of his race. Lindsey's sources informed him that the Prelate had spent the past decade or so exploring ways to expand the ancient Council's influence, increase their loyal numbers, grow their financial foundation and holdings...

And gain victory in the approaching war. Hence the esteemed leader's late night meeting in the 9th floor office of Wolfram & Hart's brightest, most promising junior partner.

The lawyer took an instant dislike to Frost. His manner, his carriage, his slovenly dress -- everything about him screamed ultimate power, and the arrogance that so often came with it. He despised the way the vampire looked on him with such obvious disdain... ran his alarming gaze over Lindsey's suit with a smirk as if he had caught him wearing cast-off's from the Salvation Army, rather than Armani, before finally strolling across the office to stand by the picture window with his hands clasped behind his trim, silk-covered back, gazing lovingly out at the sparkling Los Angeles night.

"So, Mr. McDonald. I understand that your firm believes they might have some information of use to our latest project."

The young attorney shook off his personal discomfort and dislike for the demon, and focused instead on maintaining his usual unflappable, neutral businesslike demeanor. Frost might look like some slob-chic pinup boy, but he was still a potential client with a great deal of money and influence.

"We have some mutual interests, Mr. Frost. It makes sense for our two organizations to combine resources in reaching our common goals."

Frost smirked at Lindsey over his shoulder. "Hm." He turned back to the window once more. "And what do you think those might be?"

Lindsey quickly rifled through his mental notes on Deacon Frost and the Sanguinati. "For your part, a foothold in the United States. For both of us, some organization and authority over the demon population on the west coast, and leverage in... coming events."

The vampire chuckled, shaking his head, before he turned to face Lindsey fully. "You know, I find your profession's dubious talent for double-speak rather... well, boring, actually. Why can't you just say what you mean? Our "goals" and "interests", our desire for "leverage" in "coming events"... means simply this: we want to rule the world. To rule the world, we have to win the Great War. To win the Great War, we need an unconquerable army. In order to build such an army, we need The Great General." He ticked the list off on his long fingers as he spoke. "And *that*, my dear Mr. McDonald, is our common ground."

The human kept his poker face, but scowled internally. If it wasn't for the fact that this particular case might get him the biggest promotion of his career, he probably would have told the vampire king to go fuck himself.

"Of course," he agreed amicably.

Frost circled slowly behind Lindsey's chair. "Good. Now that we understand why we're really here, what say we skip all the lawyer talk, and get to the particulars. What do you and your firm think you have to offer me? Besides your collective throats, that is."

Lindsey didn't even flinch at the threat. After all, he worked with bloodthirsty monsters every night. The simple fact of the matter was, Frost needed him. He could give the Sanguinati what no one else could -- beginning with the thick sheaf of papers that he pulled from his briefcase and handed to the younger-looking man.

The Prelate skimmed them quickly, then glanced up with an apathetic expression. "Now I'm so very bored," he complained, tossing them carelessly back. "Why don't you just *tell* me what you think you have there? In English, if you please. Or... the Romance language of your choice. I'm not picky."

The lanky demon sunk into a nearby chair and crossed his long, leather-clad legs, waiting with a cocked eyebrow for his new lawyer to give an impromptu presentation.

Lindsey was up to the task.

"We've recovered the missing passages of the Beldisian Annals."

A hint of amusement crossed over Frost's boyish features. "The Vampire Bible. And here I thought those texts were just a legend. Well. You learn something new every day, don't you? But... you're certain they're not a forgery?"

The other man nodded, feeling like he had just scored a minor victory in what was turning out to be a rather satisfying battle of wills. "Our experts assure us... they're authentic."

The Prelate nodded. "I'm impressed. And...have they found the rituals we're looking for?"

McDonald got up and strolled over to his wet bar, pouring himself a drink and rudely choosing not to offer one to Frost, before he replied. Being on his feet made him feel just that much more in control. He really, really hated vampires. This one more than most. "It shouldn't take more than a day or two to complete the translation. And we already have the sorcerers in place. Vampires, as you requested. By the time the Dark Moon rises, you should be ready to go."

Frost reclined further in the chair, kicking his booted feet up onto the edge of the black lacquered desk, ignoring the lawyer's dark frown at the action.

"Well, then, I guess your firm really has earned its sterling reputation. I have to say, this makes my job a lot easier. Scouring the planet for magick that might not even exist is a big misappropriation of time and money... not that we don't have plenty of both. I just hate seeing either go to waste."

Lindsey leaned back against the bar and watched the ice cubes clinking around in the bottom of his untouched scotch. He never drank when he was with supernatural clients. The tumbler simply gave him something to do with his nervous hands. "I assume you have particular... historical figures in mind for the resurrection," he mused aloud.

The cold, piercing sage gaze lit on him, sending a shiver down to the depths of Lindsey's soul. "Indeed, we do. The prophecies are very clear about the Great General, Mr. McDonald. And in order to draw him to our ranks, there are only particular ones who will be of any use."

"You seem to think that turning him is going to be easy. That kind of attitude is a serious mistake, believe me." Lindsey had barely lived through more than a few run-in's with the infamous souled vampire himself. Sometimes, he could still feel the rope around his throat from one of their more heated... discussions.

At that, Frost burst into laughter. "Really! And how did you become such an expert on The Aurelius, hm? They teaching vampire history in law school now?"

Lindsey scowled at the arrogant vampire. "The Senior Partners know how important he is. We've been watching him for a long time. He can't be bought. Or cajoled. Or convinced by force."

"Of course not. He is a strong and honorable man. Or... whatever it is he's passing for these days. But really, use your imagination, Lindsey. The key to Angelus' loyalty -- indeed, to his accursed soul -- is easy even for a lawyer to figure out."

"The Slayer," he guessed, ignoring the slight.

"Mm. The legendary Chosen One. I find their alliance an amusing irony, don't you? Imagine," Frost got up and strolled to the back of the office, glancing at Lindsey's framed credentials on the wall as he spoke, "The greatest weapon of the forces of Light, mated by blood and soul bond to the darkest, most malfeasant creature ever to rise from the dead." He spun and laid a brilliant smile on the young human. "It's better than reality TV, you know? I have to say, I've always been a big fan of Angelus. I followed his career for years after he and his Sire left the Order. Nest was *livid* when a *whelp* ran off with his Most Favoured! But... I digress. Angelus is the pivotal X-factor in determining who will triumph in the End of Days. The passe-partout of turning him is releasing his stalwart soul. The key to releasing his soul is severing his bond with the Slayer. By gaining Angelus' allegiance and leadership, we will gain control of the Gate, and thus, the Old Ones will once again take their rightful place as kings of the earth." He moved away once more, examining some of the small statues displayed on shelves along the walls.

"I'm afraid that's easier said than done, Mr. Frost. There are *two* Slayers now -- more powerful than any others in their history. And Angel's friends are a formidable force -- deeply devoted to him and his cause. There's no way we can drive them apart. No matter what magick you have."

Frost didn't bother to turn around as he replied, "Not so, my dear counselor. Dividing their numbers will also be elementary: kill the Slayer, and Angelus will return to the fold as Master of both Aurelius and the Los Angeles basin, which, as you know, contains a mystical convergence of some power. An important advantage for whoever controls it. With the Order of Aurelius fully restored, the Sanguinati will reign." He turned at last. "The forces of the Powers That Be will be scattered without their beloved leaders, and your senior partners will have the entirety of vampiredom as allies."

Now it was Lindsey's turn to laugh. "Killing the Slayer. Now... why didn't *I* think of that? Oh, right! Because it's *impossible*! Not only is she one of the greatest warriors who ever lived, but she is bound to one, and guarded by several other, of the greatest warriors who ever... lived, for lack of a better word. Have you forgotten William the Bloody? The Secondary Slayer? Not to mention the Sierra Ridge shape shifters, the Watcher's council, and from what I understand, a top-secret arm of the United States Government, PLUS the prophesied Triad. All of these forces shield the Summers girl. It's not like your lackeys can just snatch her off the street. Angel barely lets her out of his *sight*."

Frost's smile faded. "You underestimate me, McDonald. Just because I *look* young and foolish, don't make the error of presuming that I *am*. I'm well aware of the details of Angelus' situation. Why do you think I've asked for the Annals of Resurrection in particular, hm?"

Lindsey snorted derisively, no longer caring if he offended his client. "What, you think bringing a bunch of dead vampires back from Hell is going to help?"

"No," the Prelate replied, his smug smirk returning, "It will only take one."


	2. Moved By You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER NOTE: The song Buffy and Angel dance (and do other things... *g*) to is the hauntingly beautiful "Everything" by Lifehouse, from their AMAZING album, "No Name Face." Go thee to Napster and download it. Or better yet, buy the CD. It *rocks*. TRANSLATIONS: Let's review our Gaelic, shall we? *g* Ionuin = Beloved. Mo Gra = My Heart/Love. In delectum, Angel murmurs, "I love you. Exquisite, magnificent beloved..." Doncha just love it when he does that? *sigh*

Angel knew something was amiss before he took even a single step into the Hyperion. For one, the building was completely dark and devoid of activity -- a state unheard of at 9:00 p.m. on a weeknight. Usually, this was Angel Investigations' busiest hour, when his staff was fully awake and alert after a full day's rest, and whatever business awaiting their attention was addressed. But now, Cordy's car, Gunn's truck, and Wesley's bike were missing from the lot, and he could sense no one moving around inside. Not even Spike and Faith, who had dropped in for a visit several days before -- the DeSoto and its perpetual pile of rust chips was gone too.

Something was wrong. He had only been gone for a few hours, since just after sunset, when he had gone on his weekly errand to visit Merl, and glean what information he could about the swiftly rising vampire population in Los Angeles. The Sanguinati were coming, and they needed to be ready. Of course, predictably, the demon snitch didn't have anything of great import to share, no matter how hard Angel hit him. But he had at least thought the others would be here for their regular nightly briefing when he returned.

Where could they all have gone?

He reached out for Buffy across the link, only to find himself squarely blocked -- an even more ominous omen.

He cursed as he threw open the doors and rushed inside, quickly scanning the deep shadows of the cavernous room for any lurking danger. Nothing. No one but his lover had been there in some time. Her lingering scent was fresh -- and lightly perfumed, he noticed. Jasmine. She was here... so why was she blocking him?

The patio doors were open to the warm spring night, and the sight sent a whole new wave of fear and panic ripping through his gut -- had something broken in and hurt her? Violated his home and taken his mate?

"Buffy?" he called out frantically, "Are you here?"

One of the darker shadows near the courtyard doors came suddenly to life, shifting slightly, increasing the flowery-musk of her scent in the air. The aroma in itself made Angel want to smile, but the fact that she was quiet, standing there staring at him from the darkness with their link closed to him squelched the urge.

He took a step down into the lobby. "Buffy, I know you're there. What's wrong?"

The shadow chuckled softly. "Why would you think anything's wrong?"

Her tone was playful, yet somehow ominous at the same time. He continued moving slowly toward her.

"The fact that you're lurking in the dark, for one."

"I'm not lurking," she insisted, "That's your specialty."

He reached out once more, but Buffy continued to keep their usual method of wordless communication tightly sealed.

"And everyone else is conspicuously absent during regular business hours," he went on.

"I sent them home," the shadow informed him, "One of the perks of sleeping with the boss."

"And you're blocking me," Angel concluded.

Buffy took another step forward, but remained shrouded in shadow enough so that not even his keen night vision could make out her details.

"My private thoughts are my business, aren't they?"

Oh. Right. They had agreed, some months before, that they would give one another privacy in their day to day life... and not be hurt if one of them closed to the other. But even so, Angel could usually at least get some sense of whether she was okay.

Now he could read nothing. The foreign emptiness made his soul ache.

"Buffy, what's..."

Before he had a chance to finish his sentence, the shadow jumped, taking the last few feet separating them with a preternatural flying leap. He caught her easily, but before he could protest her attack, she kissed him, long, slow, and hard.

The last of his tension vaporized in a moment as her warm lips caressed his.

"Mmm..." Buffy sighed as she pulled away, smiling, "Welcome home, honey. I missed you."

Angel set her gently down on her feet, taking note of her sheer ivory sundress and upswept hair. Her stunningly natural beauty never failed to take his unnecessary breath away, no matter how long they were together. Despite the fact that he saw her almost all day and night, every day and night, now that they were living together (Living together. Half of him was fairly bursting with joy at the idea, and the other still cringed with Catholic guilt over it.). Still, every time he laid eyes on her, it was like the first time all over again. His dead heart squeezed tight, his voice caught in his throat, and he had to take a moment to pull himself together before he could function properly again.

Buffy was still the most magnificent thing he had ever seen, and he felt as though he grew to love her more every moment that she was by his side.

.//And then there's the little matter of the see-through dress...//

"I missed you, too," he replied, narrowing his eyes at her in mock suspicion. "What are you up to, Summers?"

Her lightly polished lips pursed up, and her hand flew to her chest in faux indignance. "Why, whatever do you mean?"

Angel gave her a look.

"Okay, okay," she relented with a sigh, "Party poop vamp."

Buffy took him by the hand and led him across the lobby toward the courtyard doors where she had been hiding when he first arrived. He couldn't help himself... he held back just enough to watch the way the soft curves of her rear end shifted gracefully beneath the clingy, barely-there fabric of her dress.

.// It must be new. I *definitely* would have remembered if she wore it before.//

'I heard that,' she complained through link, 'You just keep it in your pants, pal.'

He chuckled. 'I'll remember you said that, later.'

'Hm. We'll see.'

He grinned. Sexy banter with Buffy was his... well, his *second* favorite activity. He could almost taste the seductive promise in her soul's voice.

When they reached the top of the stairs, she stopped and turned to look up at him.

"Close your eyes," she commanded gently.

Angel gave an exaggerated wince in response to her words.

Buffy rolled her eyes and held out her hands to show they were empty. "No sword, I swear. You're perfectly safe. This is a *good* surprise."

With a little sigh and a lot of apprehension (not her fault-- she didn't know that Darla also said those exact same words in the moment before she killed him), he complied. He trusted Buffy completely, after all, and since she wasn't a vampire, and he was still in full possession of his soul, he figured he was probably safe.

The light switch nearest the French doors clicked, and he heard a hum of electricity fill the air -- a great deal more than was required to power the security floodlights in the courtyard.

.//Hm. Interesting.//

Buffy took his hand once more and led him out into the night, then stepped away, leaving him standing alone. In a moment, he smelled the sulfur of a match, then the heating wax of newly lit candles. With another soft click, the stereo began to play, and with a few clinks of glass and metal the scent of food met his sensitive nose-- his favorites: roasted stuffed chicken, au grain potatoes, glazed baby carrots, and a good wine.

.//Buffy *cooked*?//

Angel's smile grew. His beloved in the kitchen--with no resulting fire--was a remarkable occasion, indeed.

"It was just that one time! And... we had a fire extinguisher," she objected upon hearing his thoughts. "Okay, open."

He did as she requested and gasped aloud at the sight that met his eyes. His love had created a virtual fairyland. She'd strung thousands of tiny white lights all over the courtyard. At the center of the veranda stood an elegantly appointed table, set with the hundred-year-old china he never bothered bringing up from the basement, and covered with the food he'd smelled, and a bottle of his favorite beaujolet airing. For a finishing touch, she had placed an enormous bouquet of at least two-dozen sterling roses in a silver vase at the center.

He glanced at Buffy, devouring the proud smile on her lips and the happy sparkle in her eyes with a pang of joy.

"Wow. This is amazing. What's the occasion?" he asked, trying to reign in his delight at her gesture.

She stood up on tiptoe to give him a kiss, then looked deeply into his eyes. "Happy Anniversary, Angel."

Gazing down at her, so beautiful in the pale twinkle of the golden lights, he was nearly overcome with a rush of love so deep and strong that not so long ago, it might have very well have endangered his soul. This... moments like this that were so pure, so perfect, were the reason he had been forced to tear his heart out, and leave her behind in Sunnydale to begin with.

But now Buffy was not only the reason for and source of his perfect happiness, she was also the anchor of his humanity. She stood before him, shining like his very own sun, warming his soul just the way that she always had. And always would, he imagined.

So... she hadn't forgotten what day it was, then. Buffy hadn't said a word when they got up that afternoon, and he had been forced to hide his hurt and disappointment that she might have forgotten.

He should have known better -- this day meant as much to her as it did to him. The day, one year ago, that their life together began anew. When she had mysteriously materialized next to Cordelia's desk, and his assistant had come running down to drag him out of the shower, screaming that Buffy had just "poofed" out of thin air in the middle of the office...

Gods, had that only been a year ago? It felt to him like a long, sweet lifetime.

Angel furrowed his brow. "Anniversary? Of what?" he teased. Hey -- if she could play games, then so could he.

Buffy's happy smile instantly evaporated.

"You... don't tell me you FORGOT!" she yelped incredulously.

He looked at her in apparent confusion, giving a little shake of his head as if to seek an explanation for what she was so excited about.

With a beleaguered sigh, she launched into the story. "One year ago today, a certain redheaded Witch we know had a Wiccan hissy fit, and cast a certain spell that, naturally, went completely haywire, and sent a certain Slayer hurtling through space right into a certain cursed vampire's arms? Angel... Please tell me you didn't forget!"

She sounded so shocked... so wounded, and her pout was so charming, he wanted to grab her and kiss it all away. He finally let his bewildered expression melt, to be replaced by the smile that he was really feeling as he pulled a long velvet box out of his coat pocket and handed it to her with a sly wink.

Buffy blinked at the gift for a moment as though she wasn't sure what it was, the shot him a sorry excuse for a glare. "Jerk."

"You're welcome," he chuckled, and leaned down to tenderly kiss her cheek. "Happy Anniversary, Ionuin."

She flashed him another brilliant smile as she opened the box, but once she got a look inside, it vanished, her mouth becoming a shocked little "o". Her wide eyes shot up to his as she pulled the silver and onyx choker from the velvet, and held it up so that the twinkling lights danced off the dark facets of the gems.

"Oh my god... Angel, it's so beautiful!" she gasped, "You shouldn't have done this! It's too much!"

Angel smiled softly and took the necklace from her, turned her around and clasped the gift around her fine neck, punctuating its closure with a gentle kiss to the top of her spine.

"There's no such thing for you, mo gra... ever," he corrected her.

Buffy spun around, beaming up at him. "All I did was string some stupid Christmas lights and miraculously manage to not burn a chicken."

He took in the scene she had created--the courtyard sparkling as though his beloved had brought down the stars to shine just for him... and she, glowing and radiant like the Goddess Herself... the most precious treasure in all of his long life--and felt tears threaten behind his eyes.

How could he have ever gotten so lucky? And how could she believe that she was any less than the very center of his universe?

He reached out and drew her back into his arms. "You've done a lot more than that," he whispered, letting all of the emotion swelling in his heart flow out through the link. Then he switched to speaking directly into her mind, 'All the jewels in the universe could never begin to equal everything you've given me, Buffy. Just having you close is the greatest gift I have ever received... could ever even imagine.'

'Me too,' Buffy agreed with a happy sigh, and leaned up for one final, lingering kiss before she melted into his embrace, and they danced under the stars that the Slayer had hung for her vampire.

"Find me here   
And speak to me.   
I want to feel you.   
I need to hear you."

Angel held her tightly, his soul fairly singing at the sensation of her warm body in his arms. The magnificent irony of their relationship never ceased to amaze him. How love and Destiny had dissolved barriers of time and nature to bring them together -- a monster and the killer of monsters.

Once, that thought might have weighed him down... made him feel guilty that somehow he was stealing something precious from her... her innocence... her chance for a normal life. After all, he was a creature of darkness, and she, a being of pure light. What right did he have to even stand in her presence, let alone dare to touch her... taste her... luxuriate in the sacred warmth of her love?

But things were different, now. The more time that passed, the more their lives and beings merged, the more Angel was certain that he was reborn in her love. That his soul's melding with Buffy's had washed him clean of sin... made him pure and whole in a way that he had never been, even as a human. He finally had begun to feel worthy of the life he had been given...of his second chance to stand by her side, fighting for the world they both loved.

"You are the light   
That's leading me   
To the place   
Where I find peace again."

Buffy drew back just enough to look into his eyes. Sometimes, in moments like this, with the link pulsing between them like an umbilical cord of emotion, she was certain that she could just fall into the depths of his dark eyes. The way he always looked at her, like she was some miracle or something... that look made even her worst pain and fear simply vanish.

She thought funny things whenever she was near him... about fairy tales and romance novels... love songs and erotic poetry... epic myths and comic books ('Comic books?', he chuckled in her mind. 'Stay out of my head, you,' she warned half-heartedly.). Even as a starry-eyed little girl, when Buffy had dreamed of brave, handsome knights on black steeds coming to whisk her away to magickal castles, she had never imagined that she could be so happy. So full. She and Angel had survived so much together -- especially in the last year -- that she had a hard time rememberingg where her life... her body, heart and soul... ended, and his began. She wondered sometimes, if there was really a difference between them anymore at all, or if they had just become one being, housed in two forms.

She could hardly fathom that a year ago, they were living separate lives... walking separate paths, thinking they would never be together again. That she had actually made some effort, however weak, to pretend to move on, as if the very foundation of her being wasn't tied to Angel from the first time she heard his honeyed voice.

**Is there a problem, ma'am?**

He held her tightly against him, and tenderly brushed his mouth to hers. Their bond flared as it always did at an intimate touch, their thoughts and feelings spilling together until they really were one love... one passion.

"You are the strength   
That keeps me walking   
You are the hope   
That keeps me trusting."

As he kissed her, he was struck by a gentle storm of sensation... her soft, warm body curving perfectly into the grooves of his, her small arms wrapping around his neck, her tiny fingers winding in the back of his hair. He shivered.

He had been with hundreds... maybe thousands... of beautiful women in his time. Had sailed to the highest peaks of lust, and still... there was no other female in the universe who could do what this one did to him. She set him on fire... sparking a raging hunger, deeper than bloodlust through his every cell, and only touching her could ease that ache. Feeling her velvet skin... tasting every sweet inch of her flesh. It was difficult, now, to know whether the suddenly blinding want that washed through him was his or hers... or some combination of the two.

Frankly, he didn't care. It simply was, and that desire drew his hands and mouth to explore her form more fully. Tender kisses to her chin... her delicate neck, now adorned with his poor gift. He lingered for a moment just below the necklace, to trace the tiny circle of harder flesh where he had marked her as his.

His. This beautiful, enchanting woman... this magnificent creature, was his. His to touch. To taste. His to have. His to love.

He would never have dreamed such a blessing for his eternity.

"You are the light   
To my soul.   
You are my purpose.   
You're everything."

Buffy sighed as his hands traced the curve of her back, wandering tenderly over her waist, and finally coming to rest on her rear, gently cupping the rounded muscles and pulling her lower body firmly against the growing evidence of his arousal.

The combination of emotions and the familiar heat of physical lust tore an unconscious gasp from her lips, and she urged his face downward. Angel complied happily, teasing the bare skin of her chest, just above the edges of the neckline of her dress. Bracing the small of her back with one hand and arching her slightly away from him, the other hand smoothed up under the hemline at her thigh, easing beneath the chenille and continuing upward on its reverent journey.

His cool touch struck Buffy's aching nerves like lightning, burning a trail over her body, until at last he cupped one breast in his gentle hand. Squeezing softly, his thumb teased the outer swell, then brushed feather-soft circles over the diamond hard nipple.

"Angel..." she breathed.

He groaned softly in reply, and without losing even a moment's contact with her flesh, urged her backward to the loveseat at the far end of the patio, and eased her carefully down, dropping to his knees at her feet.

Angel eased back for a moment to drink in this vision--her soft skin flushed with desire, the quickened rise and fall of her chest--and he was overwhelmed for the millionth time by the sensation of being utterly honored to be the humble supplicant of this Goddess. What more reward could he desire than the privilege of kneeling at her altar?

"Is duine a ghra thusa," he murmured as he bent toward her, and pressed a soft kiss to each of her knees, "Fioralainn, ionuin iontach..."

Nibbling gently on the tender flesh of her inner thighs, he set to worshipping her, kissing the bliss he felt at touching her into each caress, until he arrived at the apex of her form.

Her feminine scent washed over him as he pressed his face to the silk of her panties, nudging his nose into the heated flesh within. There was no aroma in the universe like this heady ambrosia... the smooth musk of her very life's essence, sweeter, more powerful, than even her charmed blood.

"How can I stand here with you   
And not be moved by you?   
Would you tell me   
How could it be   
Any better than this?"

Buffy rolled her hips up to him, her fingers convulsively clutching the muscles of his broad shoulders as he kissed her aching cleft, teasing her through the silk separating them with his lips and nose. At last his hands slid up her thighs, catching the thin lace at her hips and tugging the material downward, following that slow sojourn with his tongue, wandering down to her feet before he pulled them off and tossed them away. He paused for a measure of pounding heartbeats to attend her feet, drawing her toes one by one between his teeth.

He made his way up her legs until he arrived at her center once more, and brushed his mouth gently over the outside of her silken lips. He teased her almost to the point of pain before finally showing mercy, parting her gently with thumb and forefinger, and dipped his tongue inside.

"You calm the storms   
You give me rest.   
You hold me in your hands   
You won't let me fall."

Tasting her was like catching a sudden fever... the searing, pulsing wet heat of her intimate flesh like fire against his cool tongue. She cried out at the paradoxical sensation, and he moaned her name in return... a prayer spilling from deep in his soul.

"Buffy..."

She was lost, writhing in wild pleasure beneath him as he devoured her, and she felt as though any moment, he would nibble and suck and drag her soul right out of her. She thrashed against him, her delight expressed in growing cries, pacing the rhythm of his attentions. His tongued dipped slowly into the throbbing edges of her entrance, circling its edges with painstaking care, then pulled up over the path of super-sensitive nerves that led to her rock-hard clitoris. Her helpless whimpers flared to pleading cries as his soft lips sealed around her, suckling and nibbling gently. One long finger... then a second, and a third... eased inside of her so gradually, she was certain she would simply explode if he didn't move faster... touch more... harder... *now*.

"Oh God, Angel! Oh... God... yes!" she cried out as he flicked his tongue over and around her nub, a butterfly wing touch that sent her hurtling toward the precipice of release. One hand clutched her hip, kneading her soft flesh even as he pulled her more tightly to him, while the fingers of the other glided in and out of her to the cadence of her thundering heart. "Please... please don't stop... oh... God! ANGEL! Angel... angelangelangelangelangelooooohhhhhhgaaaahhhhhd!"

His body throbbed at the sound of her bellowing, chanting his name, and a feral snarl rumbled from his chest as her inner muscles fluttered and clamped around his fingers. She came with an eruption of frantic motion and joyous sound, slamming her hips up into his face as the convulsions of orgasm ripped through her. Angel forced his gaze upward over the hills her bowing form, unable to refuse this chance to see her at her most liberated. At her most incredibly beautiful... when all the fetters of her title... all thought of responsibility, duty, and the weight of the world on her small shoulders fell away, and there was nothing left of her but bliss.

Bliss that he gave her.

She cooed softly as he set her gently back down on the soft cushions, brushing a final kiss to her sopping curls before he pulled away. She opened her eyes and smiled beatifically at him as she struggled to catch her breath.

'Beautiful...' he whispered to her heart.

Buffy reached out and lovingly caressed his face in answer.

"You still my heart   
And you take my breath away.   
Would you take me in   
Take me deeper, now?"

Angel rose slowly to his feet, pulling his shirt up and tossing it away as Buffy shimmied out of her dress. When she was nude, she sat forward and undid his fly, sliding his pants and silk shorts down to the floor, and he kicked them off. For a long, breathless moment, they simply stayed there, looking at one another... each in awe of their respective lover's splendid body.

"How can I stand here with you   
And not be moved by you?   
Would you tell me   
How could it be   
Any better than this?"

Buffy reached up for his hands and slowly drew him down on top of her, their gazes never breaking, and took him effortlessly inside herself, as if their bodies were meant to be connected... as though they were always simply waiting for their chance to come together again.

Angel moaned deeply as he sank into her heat, taking long, languid strokes into her still-pulsing center. She pulled his head down, fiercely capturing his lips in a devouring kiss, and in a few moments, the last of their restraint was simply gone. Buffy used her entire body to make love to him, arching her back to meet his increasingly frenzied thrusts... encircling him tightly in her arms and legs, whispering soft encouragements into his ear.

They were a maelstrom of passion, twisting and writhing together, washing the world around them away with their union, until nothing remained of anything but their flesh and sighs combined. Nothing left in creation but the single being they created... hearts, bodies and souls conjoined.

But before they reached that final explosion, Angel slowed and finally stopped, taking a long, deep, shuddering breath as he held perfectly still inside of her, and looked deeply into the smoky green of her eyes.

"What?" she whispered breathlessly at his expression.

For a moment, he gave no reply, either with voice or thought, but simply gazed down at her.

'Angel? Are you okay?'

He was barely able to give a small nod. Right that moment, as he braced his weight above her, and her body cradled him tightly within, he could hear her heartbeat so clearly... feel her pulse in his blood... his superfluous breath rushing in and out in time with hers, delivering oxygen he didn't need to his lungs. His muscles trembled with unslaked lust and the strain of control, and his absolute adoration of all that she was... all that she had helped him become, and all that they were together, fell like a blanket covering their entwined forms.

For that miraculous moment with her... he was alive.

"Hey," she whispered aloud, reaching up to gently cup his face in her hands. "What is it? What's wrong?"

She felt something... different coming from him. Something vivid and colorful washing out from his soul. But as well as she thought she knew him... all his shadows and light, his fondest dreams and deepest terrors, this was something she had never sensed from him before. For the life of her, no matter how hard she focused, she couldn't put a label to what it was.

But it was good, and it didn't frighten her... Angel definitely didn't seem uncomfortable or scared...

"Honey?" she asked again, wanting desperately to understand what was happening to him.

A smile overtook his features, one brighter and broader than any other Buffy had seen grace his beautiful face before, and in that moment, in the wake of that peaceful smile, every part of her fell in love with every part of him all over again.

"Do you know how much I love you, Buffy? How much you mean to me?" he asked softly, brushing the curve of her cheek... her mouth... with one of his fingertips. "Do you know how deeply you've changed my life?"

Tears welled up in her eyes at the depth of feeling in his voice.

Angel knew that there was no way to explain... no way to put what he was feeling into words that she could understand. And never before had he been so glad that he didn't have to. He could simply open his soul and share it with her.

He closed his eyes and eased down more fully on top of her, wrapping her in his arms and tucking her close as he began to move once more. And as the gentle friction of their bodies rose, he let those last barriers that he kept around his soul fall away. Broke down the walls that he kept there to protect her, in their day-to-day, from the crushing weight of his emotions... the frightening animal strength of his desire for her, and the smothering depths of his love.

He held his mate tightly to his heart, and let it all go.

"'Cause you're all I want   
You're all I need.   
You're everything...   
Everything.   
You're all I want   
You're all I need.   
Everything   
Everything."

In a blinding flash, Buffy felt everything... saw everything that lived inside of him, as she had done only once before. His emotions and memories spanning two and a half centuries of life, those both amazing and horrible. But what framed every moment of it -- what began and ended the cycle that she knew as her lover -- was herself. Her soul filled with everything he had ever done and ever been, and how he saw it all cast in a new light by her presence. How he felt, at the very core of his being, that their love... their friendship... their undying loyalty, made him far more than he had ever dreamed of being.

She was amazed... overwhelmed... and so incredibly awash with him, inside and out... a part of him more completely than she ever had before, that this meeting of their physical bodies took on an entirely new, profound meaning that extended far beyond the boundaries of sensuality.

It changed her, too. Opened her to him and laid her own soul bare. Every feeling she ever had for him... all the ways that he had altered her reality now blended with what he was giving her, until everything they felt for one another in the past... in this impassioned moment... and in all of their possible tomorrows became the only time that had ever existed.

"You're all I want   
All I need.   
Everything   
Everything...

And how I can stand here with you   
And not be moved by you?   
Would you tell me   
How could it be   
Any better   
Any better than this?"

Clinging to one another desperately, arching and plunging together again and again, they climbed one raging peak of completion after another -- pure, endless, eternal ecstasy -- until with one final cry that split the night and echoed in the stars above, they came as one all-consuming explosion.

When they drifted gently back down into their shells again, fulfillment and peace was all that endured of the storm. Their bond hummed softly, suffused with a soothing, warming light, and Buffy and Angel held one another, weeping with silent joy, their tears splashing into their blended sweat and the sweet, sticky musk of their lovemaking.

When at last they were both calm once more, Buffy leaned back to smile into his tear-tracked face.

"How do you feel about cold chicken?" she whispered, gently stroking his damp hair.

With a soul-felt, hearty laugh, he kissed her. "I love cold chicken. More than anything," he replied... and kissed her again.

"Would you tell me   
How could it be   
Any better than this?"


	3. Fairy Tales & Bloody Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song being sung in Caritas is "Feels Like Home" by Chantal Kreviazuk.

He was going insane.

Spike sat in the dark, chain-smoking, and considered the certainty that he had finally, once and for all, lost the last of his sorry marbles. That was the only explanation he could think of for the chaos that had become the hallmark of his pathetic unlife for the past eight months or so.

//I'm fucking cursed.//

He scowled darkly at the figure on the dimly lit stage as she sang.

//Bint cursed me just like the Great Pouf himself. Bloody, soddin', stinking Hell.//

Really, all Spike had ever wanted was to hunt and kill... drink a bit... maybe get some maiming and torturing in now and again... and once upon a time to be with his Dark Princess. He never asked for anything big, like, say, ruling the world... or getting it sucked into Hell like some other psychotic schizo vamps he knew of. He never even asked for more than a few lackeys to run his more boring errands -- the title of "Master" meannt squat to him but a buttload of responsibility that took time away from the fun things that made unlife worth living.

Of course, he was deprived of all those fun things now, too, so why not just fill that gaping maw that had once been the sheer thrill of being a demon with a bunch of soggy greeting card crap that he thought he'd left far behind when he stopped being "William the Bloody Awful Poet"?

//Fucking soft. I'm gone bloody well stinking squishy inside. Might as well be Angel, at this point.//

And yet, there he sat, completely unable to tear his eyes away, no matter how hard he tried... unable to block his ears to the gentle notes of the music. Unable to do any damn thing but bring his cig up for a long, desperate puff, then wash down the nausea in his gut with shot after shot of Jack.

//Somebody just stake me already.//

He'd asked for this, of course. Just because his stupid Johnson got all in an uproar over her, he'd decided it would be a good idea to spend *time* with her. And even after he'd gotten down her tight leathers -- which didn't turn out to be such a difficult thing, really -- he'd still stuck around and "got to know her better," because if *some* was good, *more* had to be *better*, right?

The downfall of countless stupid males of every species since the beginning of time.

Now, he was doomed. Now he was sitting in a damn demon sanctuary -- a fucking *Karaoke bar*, no less -- watching her sing, and waiting about so she could get her soddin' *soul* read by the ugly-arsed green homo demon in the pansy suit sitting beside him.

//Might as well have offered to hold her *purse*.//

What the Hell had he done to deserve this? The fucking gut-wrenching, ball-crushing irony of being William the Damn Bloody, totally batshit over the *Vampire Slayer*, for Chrissake. All he'd wanted was not to starve to death, not get staked, and maybe get laid every now and again. He certainly didn't need *this*.

But... there it was. He was bloody well in love with her up to his sorry eyeballs, and that, as they say, was that.

So he drank. And smoked. And scowled as he listened to her singing her fiery little heart out to some mushy assed lurve song like all the other mushy assed lurve songs the great red-horned fag always picked out for her, because she could never decide what to sing.

If there was a Hell, Spike had no doubt that it would be just like this. Assuming Caritas *wasn't* Hell, of course. He could never really be sure. Mercy. Bloody ironic damn joke, that.

"Soddin' cursed," the vampire grumbled under his non-breath.

The Host shot him a look. "Can't you just hush and *listen* for once?"

Spike snorted, but bit back his retort, downing the rest of his whiskey and motioning to the barkeep for another, instead.

Wouldn't do to get tossed out and miss out on all the gratis drinks. Liquor, blood and smokes. Maybe this wasn't really Hell after all. 'Cept for the singing, of course.

But when Faith hit the first swelling note of the next verse, he found himself forced to turn, as if her voice mesmerized him or something.

She wasn't half-bad, actually.

"If you knew how lonely  
My life has been  
And how long I've been so alone.  
And if you knew how I wanted  
Someone to come along  
And change my life  
The way you've done.

It feels like home to me.  
It feels like home to me.  
Feels like I'm all the way back  
Where I come from  
It feels like home to me.  
It feels like home to me.  
Feels like I'm on the way back  
Where I belong."

Spike rolled his eyes and snorted again, but still didn't look away. It could always be worse, of course. That Frajir demon with the voice like a foghorn on helium could be singing "I Will Always Love You" again, for example... or more painful even than that... Peaches himself could be up there, honking some Barry Manilow tune to a slow, painful death.

That thought made him shudder. Bad enough he had to fight side by side with the wanker. Being forced to listen to him caterwauling went *way* above and beyond. Frankly, he'd rather let his Sire run *him* through with hot pokers... or shove broken glass dipped in holy water up his arse.

So... watching Faith wasn't really so horrible, by comparison. Actually, most things he did with Faith weren't so horrible, when compared to other things. She looked positively delicious in her black silk flare-bottom slacks, which she wore riding low on her slender hips, topped off with a burgundy leather bustier that left little of her ample assets to the imagination, and cut off just high enough to reveal her flat belly.

Damn, his Slayer was *hot*.

He grinned to himself. Sure, Faith was addicted to Caritas like some old lady to a psychic hotline. But whenever they left the club after her monthly soul-reading, she was extra-hyper and rip-roaring to kick some city demon ass. So Spike got to get drunk, pound skulls, eat some McDonald's, and get a brain-numbing snog for his troubles. It all evened out in the end, he figured.

//Boo rah for the Hungry & Horny Principal.//

It was worth sitting through a couple of really gawdawful musical numbers. Hell, even the combined stink of every souled creature in LA County packed in like sardines all around him couldn't dampen his anticipation of the post-show.

He peeked over and saw the Host leaning on his hand, grinning up at Faith like she was Liza Minelli or something. For the unlife of him, Spike couldn't for a moment fathom how the two-legged horny toad managed to sit through night after night of this crap without his brain exploding.

"A window breaks  
Down a long, dark street  
And a siren wails  
In the night.

But I'm all right  
'Cause I have you here with me.  
And I can almost see  
Through the dark there is light."

"Where you get your song catalogue, Hallmark?" Spike snarked.

The Host glared at him. "Listen, sweetie. I adore your Faith and all, but if you don't shut your fangy yap and let me listen, I'm going to have Targo over there toss you out on your pretty little British butt. Comprende?"

Spike sneered at him as he turned back to the stage. "I should be so lucky."

"If you knew how much this moment means to me  
And how long I've waited for your touch  
And if you knew how happy you are making me.  
I never thought I'd love anyone so much.

It feels like home to me.  
It feels like home to me.  
Feels like I'm all the way back  
Where I come from  
It feels like home to me.  
It feels like home to me.  
Feels like I'm on the way back  
Where I belong.

Feels like I'm all the way back  
Where I... belong."

The room shook with thunderous applause and Faith took a sweeping bow. The audience at Caritas seemed to get a real kick out of hearing the Slayer sing, and she was a total ham, sucking up the attention like she was born to be on stage.

He couldn't help his silly grin at her attitude. Had a spirit that he just wouldn't quit, that one.

Now if he could only get the stupid Host to give her a Sex Pistols song to sing. Or at least, Siouxie and the Banshees... he'd even take Korn, if he had to.

"Why you always make her sing that nursing home crap?" he griped as they waited for her to return to the table. "If I gotta hear one more bloody sappy adult contemporary song, my ears are gonna bleed."

Lorne laid a cool smile on him. "I didn't pick that one, sugar. Your lovely lady did."

Spike's mouth dropped open in horrified shock, but before he could comment or argue, Faith arrived, and the Host jumped up to give her a congratulatory hug.

"That was *sterling*, kitten! Just fabulous! Streisand couldn't do any better. Have you ever thought about giving up the old Sacred Duty and hittin' the road with that voice?" he gushed as they sat.

"Never let me call you kitten," Spike complained, and was soundly ignored.

Faith drained the tall glass of orange juice that the Host had waiting for her, and beamed proudly. "Nah. I'm way better with a stake than a mike." She tucked her long, thick chestnut hair behind one ear, and looked over at Spike. "So, how bad did it suck?"

He met her big, brown eyes, and forgot every snide comment he had planned to make.

Instead, the vampire shrugged. "Uh...not too painful, luv."

//As Homer Simpson would say: Doh!//

"Cool." She smiled and leaned over to give him a quick kiss, but even that was enough to make him have to shift in his seat to stay comfortable. His jeans were suddenly *way* too tight. Maybe that was why the Poufter always wore those froofy loose slacks...

"So, what's the next stop on the Destiny Train, Lorney?" the Slayer asked their benefactor.

"Mm. Honey, you've got a soul almost as interesting as Angelino's. Though...thankfully, a *much* more pleasant voice."

Faith just looked at him evenly. She never took well to anybody making fun of Angelus, no matter how much the big, dumb git was prancin' around beggin' for it.

Lorne caught her expression, and plunged on. "Right. Well... not a lot has changed since last time... uphill battle, inner struggle, leftover childhood stuff, deep-seated anger, etcetera. But... there's a couple of new things I'm seeing." His red eyes flicked briefly at Spike. "Are you sure you don't want Sid here to wait outside while we talk?"

Faith frowned and grabbed his hand. "The vamp stays."

He felt weird about Faith's penchant for possessive PDA's, but he indulged them. If he had to admit it -- and it would have to be under pain of torture, if he ever did -- it was kind of nice to hold her warm hand. Just like it was nice to feel her unspoken need for his presence.

//*Nice?* Oh, fuck me.//

The Host sighed. "Okay. Have it your way, darlin'. You're still on the right path... and doing a nice job of atoning, if I do say so. Angelcakes must be tickled pink with sponsor pride about your progress. But... you're looking at some tough times, ahead. And I'm talking tough like, shoe leather tough."

The bright, eager look that had been on Faith's features collapsed into a worried scowl. "What kind of tough times?"

Spike had to hold himself back from scooting to the edge of his seat to catch this little tidbit.

"That, I don't know. What I do know is that you're about to run into a *major* intersection -- and there's not a traffic light in sight. You and a particular undead peroxide blond with really heinous smoke breath are going to have to make a split-second choice."

"Hey!" Spike objected upon realizing that the underworld's answer to Elton John was insulting him practically to his face. For one, he always had an Altoid handy. For two -- Spike couldn't have his soul read, because he didn't *have* one , and frankly, he preferred it that way. He was a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-Levi's sort of demon, and all the Powers That Be Sacred Duty Save the World Fickle Finger of Fate crap Angel and his buddies put so much stock in meant about as much to him as fear of catching Lyme Disease.

Spike had absolutely no interest in being part of *anybody's* Destiny.

The Host ignored the outburst, and went on. "How you decide to go could very well determine the fate of the world, punkin'."

Faith worry turned to anger. "What's that supposed to mean? Can't you just speak English?"

Lorne leaned further over the table toward her. "Honey... it means that you're going to be faced with a rolling tray of Fate a la Carte, loaded with hefty servings of what you *think* you want, and what you really *need*, to pick from. All I can tell you is... the world won't fare well if you order the wrong dish."

The Slayer slumped back in her chair, the tomboyish gesture in stark contrast to her feminine outfit. "Great. So I have to decide the fate of the whole world without a chance to look at the menu for a minute?"

"I'm afraid so, darlin'. Not just you, either. Handsome here is going to be faced with the same choice. At the same time. Way I see it," he rose form his seat, giving Faith and Spike each a serious look, "Where one of you goes, the other follows. I suggest you start learning to be more comfortable with that. Well, have fun kids. Again, nice number," he concluded cheerily, and vanished into the crowd.

Faith stared after the demon for a long time. Great. Exactly what she needed -- more life and death decisions. It was hard enough carrying the burden she already *had*. Even with both Angel and Spike on her side, each in their own way, she could still feel the shadows of guilt calling to her... promising an easy relief from her pain if she would just give up her quest to be good, and come back to... Hell.

She sure as fuck didn't need to worry about the well-being of the whole damn *world* resting on her next move. That was Buffy and Angel's gig.

She sighed. The truth was, none of this came as any real surprise. Her whole existence since she woke form her coma had been chock full of fun things to decide. And being the Slayer -- or at least, nominally, one of them -- made every decision she made at least a little bit earth-shattering.

Spike squeezed her hand, bringing her back to the present.

Faith's emotions for the vampire were a whole different ball of confusing wax. What she felt for Spike was so simple compared to everything else. Hell -- *he* was simple. Spike was what he was, did what he did, and said what he said without a moment of existential angst, a second of solitary brooding, or any excuses, no matter what. Unlike herself and Angel.

Having him near her always made her feel... safe, as completely screwed up as the idea was. And really, the only *not* scary thing that the Host had told her was that the two of them were more or less stuck together on the runaway truck of What Comes Next.

She focused squarely on the stormy blue of his eyes, and waited for his trademark smart-ass comment about her pain.

Instead, he gave her what could have easily passed for a gentle smile... if she didn't know better. Which, of course, she did.

Didn't she?

"Doin' all right there, pet?" he asked softly.

Under normal circumstances, like say, when she didn't feel like the bottom had just fallen out of the universe, whenever Spike got all mushy on her, she teased him. Made some remark about how his Bad wasn't looking so Big anymore or something like that. And he would give her a snarky grin and tell her not to be such an uptight bitch, and then they'd fight or fuck, depending on the mood.

But right now, Faith had the distinct sensation that they were about to get sucked into something *way* dark and ugly, and Spike was the only thing that wasn't going to disintegrate in the process.

She figured the Host was right -- he was one of a very few constants in her life. She probably should learn to appreciate him more. She flashed him a warm, if worried, smile.

"Yeah, you know how it is. Sacred duty, Chosen One, evil streak, murderous past, yadda yadda."

Spike could easily hear the fear the secondary Slayer was trying so desperately to hide. And the neediness, too, which she always kept to herself.

She didn't want to be vulnerable to him any more than he did her. Time to do some major mental tap dancing.

"Wanna go shag in the alley?" he suggested.

Faith laughed, full and warm, pulling him in for a long, deep, cool kiss. Their tongues dueled violently for a few minutes until she pulled away.

"You always know just what to say," she purred.

Spike gave her a smarmy grin. "Can't help it. Sensitivity's part of my charm."

She reached up and cupped a chiseled cheekbone in her hand. God, he was gorgeous. Sometimes she forgot... until they were close like this, and then Faith could kick herself in the ass for not staring at him 24/7.

//All over a vampire. Go figure.//

"I'm cool with that," she informed him, digging the little puddle of hot lust pooling in her belly.

"So, alley bonk?" Spike proposed again.

"Alley bonk," she agreed, and got up, pulling him with her, shooting a quick wave to her favorite lounge demon as they headed for the exit.

The crowd was thick that night, and the going slow, but Spike wasn't in any hurry. Yeah, sure, Slayer ass waiting at the end of the trip, but... he was eternal. He had time.

He held tight to Faith's hand and let her plow through the sweaty throng, lighting up a cigarette, humming "Sexual Healing" to himself, and thinking about irony as they went.

The pair were just about to step through the metal detector when a hand fell on his arm, halting his forward motion. Spike stopped and turned to lay a dangerous scowl on whoever... or whatever... had accosted them.

Only to find himself face to face with what, for a moment, looked like some kind of spirit girl. It was tiny, and so pale of skin, hair and eyes, it was almost translucent.

Spike backed away from it by instinct as he realized what he really *was* looking at, and stepped squarely onto Faith, who had stopped behind him. He cringed further as the ethereal creature moved toward him, retaking her hold on his arm.

He shook his head, unable to believe what he was seeing. It couldn't be, could it? They didn't just wander into bars in downtown LA, did they? He was finally *really* going nutters, right?

"William the Bloody," the girl declared with a voice like ringing windchimes, "I need you."

Faith stepped up possessively, crossing her arms over her chest. "He's with me, sister. And we're leaving."

The pallid little thing blinked at her, as though she didn't understand her words. "I... I am sorry. I am still learning to properly use your tongue, Slayer."

The brunette frowned. "How do you know who I am? And what do you want with my tongue?"

The fairy child gave the larger woman a look as though the explanation should be obvious, then turned her gaze to Spike once more. "You are Spike, yes? William of Aurelius? Childe of Angelus, GrandChilde of Darla, GreatGrand..."

"Yeah, yeah," Spike interrupted, finally regaining his senses enough to make some attempt at control of the situation. "We all know the pedigree. What do you want?"

Faith looked from her lover to the girl in confusion. "You know her?"

He shrugged slightly. "I know what she is," he replied, still scowling at the girl. "But I still haven't heard any satisfactory explanation of what the Hell you *want*. What's one of your kind doing out wandering the streets?"

The wraith's bottom lip trembled. "My mistress is hunted."

"*What* is she, then?" Faith cut in.

Spike ignored her. "Hunted by what? Who's your mistress? And why should I care?"

The girl took a deep breath, and launched into what was probably a long-practiced, formal speech.

"William of Aurelius. I am high blood servant of your line. I come to beg asylum of your Master for myself and my Mistress."

Both Faith and Spike blinked.

"Your *Master*??" Faith yelped at him.

Spike's expression darkened. He grabbed the fragile interloper by her skinny little bird arm and dragged her out of the path of traffic.

"I don't *have* a Master. There's no Master in this bloody *state*. So you came looking for the wrong bloke," he snapped.

A heart-wrenching mix of fear and confusion overtook the girl's pixyish features. "But... you said... you are... William?"

"Yeah, I'm William, so what?"

"The Master... The Aurelius. Your Sire. He has to help. That is the Law."

Spike snorted. "Listen, Tinkerbell, there *is* no Aurelius, all right? Not since the Slayer dusted Nest a few moons back. And in case you didn't hear, Angelus has a soul now, and me and the Old Sod aren't, and never bloody well have been, Council. We're rogue, see? So you're gonna have to take your skinny arse to some other territory if you want shelter."

The child-like creature frowned for a moment, then reached into the flowing, gossamer material of her dress, and pulled out a white calling card, shoving it towards them.

Faith snatched it away, and glanced down at it, then looked up at Spike once more. "This is Angel's card. What the Hell is going on, here? What's The Aurelius? I thought that was your family name or whatever."

"Please!" the girl cried. "Please help us, Brother! We need Angelus! He is the only one who can help us!"

Spike stared at her for a few more tense moments. "Oh, bleedin' Christ," he relented finally, running a hand through his hair, "Let's go sit down and I can at least have a drink or ten while you tell us what's after you, and just what you think Angel can do about it."

The girl's face broke into an angelic smile so bright that it nearly lit the room, then hurried off toward one of the tables.

Spike went to follow, but Faith grabbed him and spun him around, her brown eyes flaring with confusion and anger.

"Will you please tell me what the FUCK is going on? What *is* that thing?"

He exhaled a puff of smoke he figured he'd been holding for a good five minutes. "That, my sweet Slayer, is what the Sanguinati orders call a He'airach."

Faith frowned. "A what?"

"A dark fairy, basically," he explained.

Her expression didn't clear.

"Food animals," Spike elaborated. "The Old Ones breed them, then cart them around to run daylight errands and to be portable bloodbanks when fresh human stuff's not around. This one, apparently, belongs to somebody in me and Angel's bloodline, and for some *insane* reason, seems to have it in her head that the git's the Master around here."

"The Master?" Faith repeated, a whole new fear rushing through her, "Like in a 'nightmare of Buffy's execution', kind of Master?"

Spike nodded and pulled her toward the table where their new friend the blood nurse sat. "That's exactly the kind of Master, pet."


	4. For We Have Lived and Loved Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angel quotes a line from a poem called "We Have Lived and Loved Together" by Charles Jeffreys. The whole text of the poem follows the chapter. I'm stealing the title.

"Full house, baby! Read 'em and cry like the sucky-ass poker players you are!" Gunn hollered victoriously, sweeping the bucketload of peanuts he'd just won from the center of the table into the already enormous pile before him.

"Bloody, stinking Hell!" Wesley barked, slapping his handful of nothing down in front of him.

"Ach," Doyle complained, "Good thing we ain't playin' fer dosh. I'd be a poor, poor man right about now."

"You already *are* a poor man," Cordelia commented from her perch on the couch. "Unless Angel gave you a raise you didn't bother telling me about." She looked up, suddenly fearful. "He didn't, did he? Because I've been begging..."

"No, darlin' Delie... alas, I remain but a lowly pauper, unfit to lick your dainty shoes. I still got nothin' to offer ye but my love to keep ye warm at night."

His lover snorted, looking up at them again from her toenail polishing. "Yeah, because you know... the nights get so cold up here in the bleak Los Angeles Tundra."

Gunn rubbed his hands together greedily. "So... any of you losers... uh, I mean *lovely folks* up for another hand?"

"NO!" Wes and Doyle shouted in unison.

Before the newest member of their group could put up any argument, his beeper went off. He snatched the gadget from his belt and checked the readout.

"Up... looks like it's your lucky night. 911," he announced, and marched out to the kitchen to use the phone.

"I thought Angel and Buffy were all in 'see no evil unless it's the end of the world' anniversary mode," Cordy wondered aloud as she came over to the table, wrapping her arms around her half-demon's neck and plunking down on his lap.

The Irishman nuzzled at her throat. "Mebbee they lost the handcuff keys again," he suggested.

The ex-cheerleader grimaced. "Oh, please. That is one visual I *never* need reminding of. I still have nightmares."

Wesley grinned as he tossed a handful of Gunn's winnings into his mouth. "I found the situation rather amusing, myself. The look on their faces when we burst in..."

"Yeah," Doyle agreed, peeking out from behind the thick tangle of Cordy's hair, "That 'll teach the old man to use magick sex toys, eh?"

"The regular kind are *much* better," she agreed, "Especially the one with the fuzzy stuff on the cuffs, right, Doyle?"

"Oh, Lord. Thank *you* for the visual," Wesley complained with his own expression of distaste.

"Aw, come on, now, Wes. You can't tell me you and that lady Watcher... ARRGH!"

Wesley leapt from his seat as Cordelia was dumped unceremoniously to the floor from the force of the vision that struck Doyle. Unfazed, she jumped immediately to her feet, running to the bar for the bottle of Scotch and notepad she kept there for just such occasions.

Doyle was already calming when she returned, and he clutched his head as he gratefully accepted the tumbler she held before him.

"Thank ye, love," he mumbled, and downed the shot with a satisfied hiss. "Damn, that was a bugger of a hit."

Cordelia sat in the chair closest to him, pen at the ready.

"What did you see?" Wesley asked.

"Uh... Hell. Vampires. Vampires *everywhere*. Hundreds of 'em. But one in particular that's different from the rest. Female. Buffy screaming in pain, falling to the floor. Cement floor, I think, like in a tunnel. Or maybe a cave... or it coulda been a sidewalk, I guess. And Gunn. Just a flash of his face, and..." he glanced up angrily, "You know, as much as these damn visions hurt, you'd think they could be a bit clearer! Christ!"

Cordelia scratched shorthand notes on the pad she held in her lap as he went on, giving him a sympathetic look.

"Something... Gunn's about to do something that sets off a nasty chain of events. That vampire council bunch. Something that's gonna kill Buffy."

Wesley and Cordelia exchanged horrified looks, recalling the nightmares that their vampire and Slayer friends had shared the previous year, after the situation with the Initiative.

"The Sanguinati," Wesley gasped.

"But... what does Gunn have to do with them?" Cordelia wondered aloud.

No sooner had the words left her mouth, than Gunn reappeared in the kitchen doorway, pulling on his jean jacket.

"Suit up, gang. That was Spike. Him and Faith are at Caritas, and they say some chick is being hunted by some nasty vamps. Want back-up while they get her to Angel."

Everyone sat where they were, staring at him. Gunn waved a big hand in front of their faces.

"Hello... anybody readin' me in there?"

Wesley gulped. Cordelia frowned.

"We can't," Doyle informed him.

Gunn's eyebrows shot up. "Say what?"

"We can't help them," Cordy explained. "Doyle had a vision. Whoever this person is might end up getting Buffy killed."

"*What?* You're kidding, right? Man!" their newest member complained, collapsing back into his chair. "How do you know? I mean... these visions are usually pretty fuzzy...and we do still help the hopeless, right? Nobody changed the mission statement when I wasn't looking..."

His three friends continued frowning at him, saying nothing for a long, tense while.

"We can't just leave them sitting there," Gunn finally declared, "Spike says it's not safe for them to leave the bar."

"He's right," Cordelia admitted. "I mean, if somebody's asking for our help, we can't really turn them away."

Wesley sighed in resignation. "We should contact Angel."

"No can do," Gunn informed them, "Spike already tried. Phone and beeper are off line. Unless you got some kind of Angel Signal, we'd have to go over there to get him. And it don't sound like we got that much time."

"Damn," Doyle complained. "They picked one Hell of a night for alone time. So what're we gonna do, then?"

Silence reigned once more as everyone was lost in his or her thoughts.

Doyle was no happier about his particular talent tonight than he had been when he "acquired" it a few years back. The pain never got any better... in fact, he'd go so far as to say it was getting worse. And nine times out of ten, whatever came ripping into his brain was a whole Hell of a lot more trouble than it was worth.

He glanced over at Cordelia's sweet face, all scrunched up in a worried pout. She was the exception to the "Visions Suck" rule. After all, if it hadn't been for his uninvited tie to the Powers, he never would have met Angel. And if he'd never met Angel, he never would have laid eyes on his lovely princess at all, let alone be living with her in a fabulous one-bedroom Spanish Style flat in Silver Lake, happier than he ever had been before in his sorry life. Sure, the place was haunted, but... there were worse things an apartment could be -- like, say, roach-infested, which he knew all about from first hand, skin-crawling experience. And honestly, Dennis wasn't the worst flatmate he'd ever had, either. So long as they turned the TV to the Playboy Channel and cast a ward on the bedroom door when they wanted privacy...

After the heartbreaking fiasco of his marriage to Harry, Doyle never thought he'd fall in love again, but the fair Cordelia had near swept him off his feet in spite of himself. Made him see the whole world differently with her sharp, observant wit, and sweet, caring way. Why, even the visions sometimes made more sense once she got a hold of them. Her unabashedly astute commentary often helped him turn the muddled pictures in his head around and see things he might otherwise miss. Better angles, and all that.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, suddenly struck with inspiration by his train of thought, "What if the vision was warnin' us that if we *didn't* help this here damsel, *then* Buffy would be in danger? What if we need this person to defend ourselves *against* the Sanguinati?"

His three friends brightened noticeably.

"Excellent point, Mr. Doyle!" Wesley exclaimed, jumping up and dashing for the door. "We'll assist Spike, and report back to Angel. Who knows what information this client might have?"

"Hmph. Bet she doesn't have any *money*, though," Cordelia whined.

Doyle helped her on with her sweater as they followed Wes and Gunn out the door. She took his hand and gave him an adoring movie-star-bright smile as they stepped out.

"You, Alan Francis, are a genius," she gushed, laying a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

He blushed. "Ah, hardly, my love. I was just inspired, is all."

~~~~~

Buffy collapsed onto Angel's chest, completely spent. After dinner, wine, and more dancing, they'd ended up necking like horny teenagers right there on the veranda floor, then did some heavy petting on the grand staircase, a bit of groping in the hallway outside their room, and finally, wound up monging the Hell out of each other on the plush carpet of their suite's sitting room. The passionate pair never made it to the bed at all until after the second time they made love there on the floor, when Buffy complained that her whole body was rug-burned. So Angel had swept her up into the bed, promptly made her forget all about rugburn with a thorough tongue bath, after which she thanked him with an earth-shattering blow job, and he had proceeded to thank her for *that* by screwing her into mattress. All of this was followed by a quick nap... and then Buffy had made love to him again.

And now they lay side by side, utterly unable to move.

"Do...do... do you think... you can... die... from too many... orgasms?" she panted heavily.

Angel had no need to pant, but he was so drained, he could barely speak himself. "Dead already."

"*You*... maybe... I'm...not."

'No, I don't think you can die from too many amazing, brain-melting climaxes,' he informed her, switching to the easier form of communication the link provided. 'Thank God.'

She chuckled. 'I'm so tired, I forgot we could do this.'

'So much for Slayer stamina,' he teased.

'Hey! I had a *lot* more orgasms than you!' Buffy replied, giving him a mental kick.

'Is that supposed to be an argument in your favor? And...Ow.'

'That didn't hurt. I barely touched you.'

Angel sent the tiniest rush of energy -- all he could muster, really -- rushing through their bond to what he knew to be her astral erogenous zone.

'Uhhhhh... gahhhhddd... staaaaaahhhp!' she moaned.

"Ha," Angel choked aloud.

"You... suck," she informed him lightly, using her last bit of vigor to slide over and plop her head onto his damp chest.

He couldn't even raise his arm up enough to hold her. "Sorry. Melting," he apologized.

"S'okay," she assured him, closing her eyes and letting her exhausted body go completely limp, tucked against his side.

'Tonight was wonderful, Ionuin.'

'Mmmm. Yes, it was. Thank you.'

'No, thank you. I thought... you forgot.'

He felt her soul's laughter. 'You, my darling, are a very, very silly vampire.'

'Really. That's not what you said a few minutes ago. In fact, I seem to recall you saying... well, bellowing, actually... that I was incredible.'

'You are. You're just silly for thinking I could ever forget the day I got you back again.'

'I'm still working on that whole self-esteem thing. Cut me a little slack if I can't believe that you're mine, sometimes.'

'*You* are *wonderful*, I *am* yours, and I love you more than anything in this world.'

For a few minutes, they hovered peacefully on the edge of one another's consciousness, cocooned by their mutual sleepy bliss.

'Do you remember that night?' Buffy asked after a time. 'That first night?"

'Mmm. Of course. Every detail. That dress you wore... the look on your face when you heard 'All I Ask of You'... the feeling of your head on my shoulder in the limo on the way home. You dressed in nothing but those high heels...'

She sighed aloud. 'I thought that was the best night of my life, then.'

Angel managed to open his eyes enough to gaze down at her. Her sweet face was so peaceful... she looked so right, her bronzed cheek resting against the pale of his chest. Her beautiful, thick-lashed eyes fluttered open and met his gaze, her lips turned up in a sleepy-sweet smile.

"And now?" he asked her.

"Now..." she whispered, "Now it seems like every night that we're together is the best night of my life."

He was finally able to reach up and softly caress the familiar curve of her cheek.

"Mine too," he agreed. " 'For thy smile can make a summer where darkness else would be.' "

"I love you so much, Angel," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion and memory, "I love how easy it is to let everything just... slip away when we're together."

"That's what love should do, I think," he replied, gathering her closer to him as she laid her head back down on his chest, "Give you shelter. Rest. No matter how difficult or painful or bizarre our lives get, we always have each other to come home to. It makes everything I face that much more bearable, just to know that I always have you to look forward to when it's over."

"Or kicking ass right beside you," Buffy added.

"That too, definitely," he agreed.

"Do you ever wonder what we'll do?" she asked, tracing the cut of his abdomen with a gentle fingertip.

"What we'll do about what?"

"When it's... done. When the war's over. I mean... if we survive... what are we going to do with the rest of our lives?"

Angel chuckled, lightly petting her hair. "I vote for full retirement. Sitting on our butts watching the grass grow."

Buffy grinned up at him. "You'd be bored in like, three seconds."

He shrugged. "I didn't say we couldn't do *other* things while we watched the grass grow."

She let her hand slide further down, and felt his body stirring once again beneath her touch. "And you say I'm insatiable," she teased, stroking him softly.

His smile widened to a good-natured leer. "In the mood for a shower, me bonny lass?"

Buffy's own body responded automatically at the same time it throbbed in exhausted objection.

"How about a bath instead? Less standing."

"Deal," he agreed.

~~~~~

"Aw, *Christ*!" Spike complained as he stepped in yet another seemingly bottomless puddle of sewer muck. "Ya just couldn't lay low in a Motel 6 or something?"

"It works for the Witness Protection Program," Faith agreed.

The He'airach plunged ahead of them as she had for the entire trudge into the deepest subtunnels under downtown Los Angeles, her gauzy skirts knotted up around her thin knees.

"My lady is... unwell. Not fit to be in the company of humans," the girl, whose name they now knew was Korin, repeated for the hundredth time. "She needed darkness. Peace."

"Yeah, I know, we got that. But you still haven't told us what the Hell's *wrong* with her that makes her so unfit," Faith reminded the fairy.

"I do not know... exactly. The Elders do not stoop to inform the servants of their plans. All that I am certain of is that the Prelate himself brought her back from the Beyond."

"The Beyond?" Wesley parroted, shock clear in his voice, "Do you mean that she was *dead*?"

Korin nodded. "The Elders have possession, they say, of the Beldisian Annals. They are seeking to raise all of the Great Ones from the Beyond."

"Lovely," Doyle commented, "Building an undead army of the undead."

"Sounds like something from an Ed Wood movie... EW!" Cordelia yelped as she too stepped in some unidentifiable goop.

"I thought you said you weren't in the loop?" Gunn grilled the He'airach, "How do you know so much?"

"I listen. They think us stupid, but we are not. They are using the Old Magicks. My Mistress was meant to be the first of those risen. But... she has been the only one as yet brought forth."

"Does your mistress have a name?" Spike snapped, "Since we're relatives, and all."

Korin looked at him as though she didn't understand what he meant. "My Lady?"

Spike let it go... she was a blood-servant, after all. It was entirely possible that she didn't know her owner's name.

"They had me make ready for her coming," the chit went on, "They said that she might be ill. Confused and weak, and that I needed to be prepared to tend her until she was improved. But... she was not improving... and she is more than confused and weak. I think... that she is mad. Something has gone terribly wrong with her. She screams and cries and she will not feed. She only calls out for Angelus."

"Buffy oughta love that," Faith mumbled.

"So you say the Council Elders raised her from the... well, the dead, for lack of better term?" Wesley recapped, still incredulous. "How is that possible? I thought such magick only legend."

"So too did the Prelate," Korin confirmed, "But they have made contact with an organization of very powerful human sorcerers. They have possession of many dark powers, and understand their use. And so my mistress was conjured. But there were... difficulties that I do not believe they foresaw."

"What kind of 'difficulties', exactly? Dead magick batteries?" Cordy asked, struggling to keep up without falling on her ass... or puking at the stench.

The fairy glanced at her over her shoulder. "There are those among the lower demons who say... that there is a fatal flaw in the conjuring. That... she has a soul, and this is why she is mad."

Spike stopped dead in his tracks, causing Faith to smack right into him.

"Hold on there, slave girl. Did you say... *soul*? You think your mistress has a *soul*?!"

The girl shrugged. "That is what they say. I do not know if it is so."

"Fuck me," Spike bitched as they resumed their march. "Just what we need -- more bloody brooding guilt machines. 'Cause Christ knows one ain't enough."

"Actually," Wesley piped in, "Such a possibility might very well prove a positive thing. Imagine if large numbers of vampires could be so ensouled! The lives that would be saved!"

The blond .//fully soulless, thank you very much// vampire grunted. "I think I'll pass, Wussley."

After what seemed like a day's hike, Korin stopped short and glanced around at the crumbling walls of what had once been the city's main sewer system.

"This way," she announced in a whisper, and dashed down a half-collapsed service corridor.

The group came out into the remains of some sort of room -- what kind, even Spike couldn't make out, because the inky darkness was so complete, even his sharp night vision did nothing to cut through it.

But he sure as Hell could *smell* it -- the stench of a sick, starving vampire.

"Mothera God!" Doyle yelped as they moved inside, tugging his jacket up over his face.

Cordelia leaned over and wretched into the dark, and Wesley and Gunn held their hands over their faces as the putrid, rotting reek hit them.

Korin rushed forward, followed closely by Faith. As the pair drew nearer, one of the shadows began to snarl and hiss in warning.

"My Lady? It is I, Korin. I've returned and brought the First Made of The Aurelius. He is here to assist us."

The shadow's only reply was a wild howl, followed by hissing that echoed off the dank walls of the room.

"Don't sound like she's asking for Angel to me," Gunn observed.

Korin looked at him woefully. "She has been senseless, most times. Worse in these two days past, since we left the compound. It has taken me that long to find you."

Faith took another step closer, and the shadow roared, reaching out to grab the Slayer. She was barely able to jump out of the way of the creature's claws.

"Shit!"

"Mick, gimmee that utility blanket," Spike snapped at Doyle, who immediately handed the bundle over. "She's a wounded animal... so we'll treat her like one, then." He growled back at the stinking, growling darkness.

"Watch it Spike," Faith warned, "That thing's *mean*."

"Korin, come here and try to distract her. Gunn, Faith, back me up. When I throw the blanket, dive on it," the vampire ordered.

"My Lady?" the fairy began again, "These people are here to take us to The Aurelius. He will keep us safe. They won't hurt you, and we need to get you somewhere warm..."

The girl's voice was smooth and hypnotic, and after a moment, the crazed demon seemed to calm some, quiet but for the sound of frantic sniffling.

"NOW!" Spike barked, jumping toward the sound.

The vampire exploded in a storm of rage and pain as they leapt on it, lashing out with claws and fangs that none of them could see. Even with their three strongest fighters, it still took several minutes and a lot of cuts and scrapes to subdue it, get it wrapped in the blanket, and bind it with the rope they had brought.

Spike tossed the squirming, growling sack over his shoulder, and glanced at the fairy once more. "You know how to get to the eastern DWP tunnels from here?"

Korin blinked at him, bewildered.

"Never mind," he groaned. "I can feel the sun coming up... we'll have to follow that. Just take us back the way we came."

"Where are we taking it?" Gunn asked.

"To Casa Del Ponzy, of course... that's who she's been asking for," he informed them, and headed out toward the main tunnel once more.

"Well... at least she doesn't need to breathe," Cordy whispered, glancing nervously at the squirming blanket.

Doyle just gave her a look.

~~~~~

"We Have Lived and Loved Together" - Charles Jeffreys

We have lived and loved together  
Through many changing years;  
We have shared each other's gladness  
And wept each other's tears;  
I have known ne'er a sorrow  
That was long unsoothed by thee;  
For thy smiles can make a summer  
Where darkness else would be.

Like the leaves that fall around us  
In autumn's fading hours,  
Are the traitor's smiles that darken  
When the cloud of sorrow lowers;  
And though many such we've known, love,  
Too prone, alas, to range,  
We both can speak of one love  
Which time can never change.

We have lived and loved together  
Through many changing years,  
We have shared each other's gladness  
And wept each other's tears.  
And let us hope the future,  
As the past has been will be:  
I will share with thee my sorrows,  
And thou thy joys with me.


	5. Asylum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER NOTE: Angel refers to Buffy as "no Galatea". Galatea was the protege of Pygmalion in "Pygmalion" -- the classical ancestor of "My Fair Lady" and "Pretty Woman". Thank you SO much to Pia for the help on this one. *g*  
> TRANSLATIONS: Angel calls Buffy "Alainn"= "beautiful". "Is duine a ghra thusa." = "I love you." "Anam Cara" literally means "soul friend." I'm sort of misusing it, here... but not really. Anyway...I highly recommend the book of the same name by John O'Donohue, as well as the magnifico fic, also of the same name, by Gem. :)

"'And Raven knew, down to the depths of her soul, as she watched the sun setting on the horizon and felt Derik stirring to life in the coffin behind her, that eternity with her immortal beloved would be more fairy tale than she had ever dreamed. The End.' Who *writes* this crap?" Angel complained, tossing the paperback he'd just finished reading aloud to her on the floor beside the tub. "And how can you bear to read it?"

Buffy reclined lazily, nestled between his bent legs, leaning back against his chest and fiddling with the thick sandalwood-scented bubbles floating in the water around them.

"I'm not reading it. You are," she corrected him.

He snorted. "Yeah, I know. My eyeballs are bleeding."

"Don't be such a baby. That was great literature!" Buffy objected, tracing circles around his kneecap with a fingertip.

"Great literature?" Angel yelped in horror, "No, Buffy, 'A Tale of Two Cities' is great literature. The works of Shakespeare are great literature. This," he said, reclaiming the book from the floor and scowling at the Viking-esque 'vampire' on the cover, "Is nothing but junk food for the mind."

Buffy was far too relaxed to spend a whole lot of energy on their usual debate over popular vs. classical culture. "I like junk food. Twinkies, Cheetos, Big Macs, Ho Ho' s..."

Her lover sighed in consternation, but she knew full well that Angel loved this argument just as much as she did. She could feel his joy at the simple pleasure of it like a wave of warmth through the link.

"And this garbage will rot your brain exactly the same way *that* garbage will eventually rot your body. Did you know that the average person who dies today will take twice as long to decompose as people who died when I was human, because of all the preservatives in their bodies?"

Buffy turned and shot him a look over her shoulder. "Wow. You really know how to talk to a girl, don't you, you sexy thing? Thanks for the advice, *Dad*," she sniped, and relaxed against him once more. "And don't you get all 'I' m-so-cultured-I-listen-to-Bach-on-a-gramophone, you-bourgeois-20th-century-American' on me, either, buddy. It was *your* idea to buy that 52" flat screen digital TV. *And* the mini-dish. I seem to remember that you said TV would rot my brain too, and yet, there you are, plunked down two inches from the screen, staring with your mouth hanging open like a kid on Ritalin every time I turn around."

"That is *not* true!" Angel objected, mortified. "I barely watch a few hours a week, and when I do, it's strictly things like "National Geographic" and "The History Channel." Sometimes CNN."

Buffy laughed. "Oh, so they're showing 'WWF Smackdown' on CNN now? Cool."

"I only watched it *once*, and that was strictly for research! Besides. I'm old. It doesn't matter if my brain melts. You, however, are in your intellectual prime. You should be taking advantage of that, and learning everything that you can."

If she hadn't been so tired, she would have interrupted his 'I'm an old wise man' routine with ... well, with some sort of activity that would remind him that he wasn' t quite *that* old.

"I sat through 'Anna Karina', if you'll remember correctly," she reminded him instead. Any more sexual activity would probably kill her, at this point. She wondered how the Watchers' Council would record that in their history books. "Buffy Summers, 1981-2001. Killed by too much incredible sex with a gorgeous souled vampire."

"You *slept* through 'Anna *Karenina*', you mean," he corrected her, and leaned forward slightly to nibble on her ear.

Buffy shivered in spite of her weariness. "Whatever. The fact is, you owe me at *least* twenty smutty romance novels for *that* wasted three weeks of my life."

Angel kept nibbling... but managed to keep lecturing, too, murmuring in her ear about the value of Tolstoy vs. Marjorie Lynkwiss. He knew he was being pompous and overbearing... but he also knew that Buffy knew it was mostly in fun.

Besides, she enjoyed and learned about the things he shared with her a lot more than she was willing to admit. He could remember bringing her to the Royal Dublin Museum when they were in Ireland the previous summer... how she had gasped at some of the amazing oil paintings... the statues... the gold-plated suits of armor...stared for hours at some of the more elaborate weapons displays. It was important to him that she see all the things she'd never seen... all the things that he had seen... or at least, the more pleasant of them. The fact that she hadn't been able to return to school this semester because of the full Slaying schedule made him feel more than a little guilty. So Angel vowed to put the experience of 250 years of existence to good use for once, and continue her education whether she was able to set foot in a classroom or not.

Buffy was no Galatea by any stretch of the imagination. But a little culture never hurt anyone.

Of course... as loathe as he might be to admit it, Buffy was right, also. He did learn just as much from her about the modern world, as she did from him about the classical. The world they lived in *now*, and protected with their very lives. This colorful culture that he had more or less adopted as his own..

Plus, professional "wrestling" was sort of fun. He used to enjoy a good brawl when he was human, and even if the fights on television were obviously staged (and he assumed that nobody involved was completely snookered on gallons of ale), it was still cathartic and relaxing to get lost in some violence in which the fate of the entire dimension *didn't* hang in the balance, for a while.

The scourge of the demon world, however, was not about to give up a battle of the wills with his beloved that easily.

"At least *Tolstoy* doesn't spread dangerous misinformation about vampires, or..."

"Lure foolish, starry-eyed adventure-seeking women with their heads full of romantic dreams into the clutches of the undead, blah, blah, blah..." Buffy finished from rote. "You know, I think I've heard this lecture before. Romance novels are one of the Seven Signs. Next, the sky will fall, pigs will fly, and Giles will suddenly decide that he absolutely *must* quit being a Watcher in order to run off to roadie for N'Sync.. Got it."

Angel laughed and dipped his tongue into her ear, winding his hands around the front of her body to softly caress her wet breasts.

"You have a smart mouth, woman," he rumbled.

Buffy wriggled out of his grasp, turned around, got to her knees, and captured him with a sly grin.

"Talented, too. Wanna see?"

Before Angel could reply, their peaceful bubble of silence was shattered by the crash of the front door, and the acoustic lobby filled with voices--frantic, shouting voices--two floors below.

Above all the rest, Spike could be heard clearly. "ANGELUS!"

Buffy and Angel were both instantly out of the tub. The Slayer grabbed a towel and began to dry off, but Angel simply tugged on a pair of sweats and sprinted out the door.

The cavernous lobby of the Hyperion was in chaos when he reached the bottom of the grand staircase. Spike and Faith wrestled with what appeared to be a snarling, screeching pile of blankets, while Wesley quickly filled a syringe with tranquilizer (anti-Angelus tranquilizer, Angel noted). Gunn was busy pulling manacles from a box behind the counter. Cordelia ran down into the basement, leaving Doyle standing in the middle of the room with a distraught...

Angel froze. It had been close to 225 years since he had seen a He'airach, and never once in that intervening time had he wanted to set eyes on one again. The Master had been in possession of a dozen or more of the enchanted creatures at one time, and had enjoyed slicing them to ribbons with his talons... or whatever sharp object might be available... and lapping their blood from their flesh as they screamed...

He shook his head to clear the abhorrent memory and approached Doyle, keeping his distance from the wraith. As he grew close to it, and thus to the place where Spike and Faith waited, holding down whatever they'd brought with them, Angel felt a stirring in his blood... like a slow rot creeping through him that brought the dormant demon instantly to screaming life.

An unconscious shiver rocked him as instincts he had long forgotten struggled to surface, and his and Buffy's magickal bond flared to hold the dark power back. He stared in shock as Gunn announced that they were ready. Spike and Faith hauled their screaming burden between them, and everyone moved down to the basement with the captive.

//It can't be.//

Angel barely felt Doyle take his arm and start to pull him after the others. He couldn't hear much of the half-demon talking to him over the howling of the monster in his mind, and the screaming call of his blood.

"...you're gonna wanna see what we've got, I think..."

//It can't be. It can't be. She's dead.//

"...sick...the fairy girl there thinks she's got a soul, if you can believe that..."

//I killed her. I felt her dust on my skin.//

Doyle led him down the cellar stairs, still rambling on about the Council, resurrections, and an army of undead- undead coming for them.

"...went wrong, I guess. It can't be true, can it? Talk about evil coming back to bite you in the ass..."

//How can this *be*?//

He shuffled along beside his friend, dragging his feet in painful slow motion as they descended the stairs, and remembered in perfect, startling detail the night when he had violated the most sacred of vampire laws. He remembered the sensation of her cold flesh giving under the point of the crossbow bolt he had wielded. The shudder in his dead heart as her essence dissipated... as her demon was released, and she exploded to dust with his name on her lips...lips that had killed him... that he had kissed and bitten... that had devoured him for 150 years...

**Angel...**

It couldn't be, and yet... there was no mistaking the call of his blood. There could be no other sensation... no deeper compulsion than this, in all the universe. And for the first time since the night Buffy had bonded his soul to hers, Angel felt the demon surge... heard its harrowing cry, like an explosion in his mind. Demanding that he move... help her... kill those that threatened her... heard it raging:

//SIRE!!//

He watched, helpless, as one pale, thin arm, then the other, was wrestled from under the blanket. Arms once as familiar as his own. Wesley plunged the syringe deep into her flesh, and the vampire screamed.

Angel's entire body lurched at the sound.

Finally, the creature went slack as the tranquilizer kicked in. Faith quickly moved to manacle her fine hands and feet together, setting her down on the blankets inside the cage usually reserved for Oz emergencies, then clamped the ankle chain to an anchor in the floor before stepping back.

Spike moved forward, "Let's see which of my delightful relatives we have here, shall we?"

The others backed out of the cage. The fairy girl whimpered in protest, hanging pitifully on the cell's heavy steel bars. Angel stood, eyes wide, nailed to his spot at the bottom of the stairs, listening to the war raging in his blood.

The link flared as Buffy came down and stood beside him.

"What's going on? What's that?" she asked, staring at the thing lying on the floor.

He couldn't find enough strength of will to even reply.

Spike took hold of the blanket, and yanked it away. Angel took a sharp, loud intake of breath. The others stared, not knowing what they were seeing. The bare bulb that lit the space swung slowly, giving the air an eerily pulsating glow.

"Not what, Slayer... *who*." The blond turned around and looked at her, but all eyes, including Buffy's, were riveted squarely on the filthy, unconscious vampire now chained to the floor in the cage. "Say hello to your lovebunny's not-so-late Sire, Pet."

~~~~~

"How is this *possible*? Angel *killed* her. I was *there*!"

"I don't know, Buffy. If Korin is to be believed, then the Sanguinati Elders have used long-lost tracts from the vampire equivalent of the bible to raise her from... well, wherever vampires go when they're destroyed."

"This is SO bad! I mean... if they can just bring each other back from Hell or whatever, we might as well not even bother *staking* them anymore!"

"Yeah, but Princess... you saw the shape she was in. Don' think anyone wants to raise an army of crazy vamps."

"Are you kidding? An army of Drusillas would sure as Hell send *me* running!"

"Oi! Shut your gob about her!"

"Make me!"

"Look, ya'll... This isn't exactly a good time for that crap."

"Do you really think... she has a soul?"

"There's simply no way to tell until she regains consciousness."

Angel could hear their tense conversation as if his friends were all standing in the basement with him, rather than upstairs. He could feel Buffy's anger and confusion as she paced nervously from one end of the lobby to the other.

"Danny-boy's vision *did* say something 'bout a vampire that wasn't what it seemed..."

"Yeah, but... is that 'yay, she has a soul', or 'boo, she has a soul'? Or..."

"What're we gonna do with the lass?"

"She's not a *lass*, Doyle. She's an evil, bloodsucking fiend."

He sat in a chair he'd placed near the cage and watched his Sire's restless sleep.

"I vote we stake her."

"I would tend to agree... but Angel is right on at least one count. I don't believe that we should do anything until we know for certain whether she has a soul."

"And if she bloody well does? She's still an evil bitch!"

"Spike, just... calm down."

"I'm not gonna bloody well calm down! None of you lot know what this means! If she has a soddin' *soul*..."

Angel tuned them out. There was enough noise in his head as it was.

It certainly wasn't the first time his past had come back to haunt him, but it was the first time that haunting had been quite so unexpected... literal...

And painful.

None of his family upstairs--even Spike--could understand the agony of what he'd had to do to save Buffy all those years ago. In fact, before he did it, he hadn't fully understood, either. He'd heard the stories, of course... tall tales told to fledglings of how killing one's Sire could drive you insane... compel your own blood to rebel and rise up against you... killing you, too. And then you would have to spend eternity in Hell, with your Maker torturing you.

The legends were an exaggeration, of course... but not by much. For days... weeks, maybe... after he'd dusted Darla, he'd wandered the sewers under Sunnydale endlessly, confused and wracked with guilt over what he'd done. The rage of the demon--and the ache of his soul--only exacerbated that pain.

He had never been able to love Darla as a vampire. A century and a half, they were mated, and still... there had been no more connection between them than blood and the tethers of habit, history, and demon lust.

But love or no, it was still 150 years. Soul or no, it was still a bond. And though once he regained his conscience, he remembered those times with bitterness and horror... he still remembered them. In perfect, terrifying, tempting detail.

The soul itself despised her... resented and blamed her as the cause of his damnation. Saw her as the incubus that had dragged his existence into Hell both literal and metaphorical. Angel despised her importance to his being. He hated her for making him what he was.

But the demon -- the ground of his continued life -- held no such resentment. The evil that was so much a part of him was hers... she was a part of him still, as long as he remained a vampire.

Some irrational piece of his mind imagined that her resurrection was a twisted sort of justice... those dark vampire morality tales come horribly true. He was finally being punished for destroying his Sire in order to protect a woman who was supposed to be the most hated enemy of his kind.

But if Darla now had a soul... perhaps it wasn't meant as punishment, but rather... the ultimate chance to atone for his crimes. If he could help her...

The warmth of Buffy's approach wafted through the basement's stuffy air, and his lover's strong, loving presence in the link soothed him even before her gentle arms wrapped around his shoulders. He turned only enough to rest his weary head against her breast as she embraced him, and another pang rushed through his heart at this new irony -- the mate of his soul, and the very source of his demon, sharing space not five feet from one another.

"I know," Buffy whispered, pressing a kiss into his hair, "I'm not too cool with the whole concept, either."

Angel had been trying to block her ever since they realized what Spike and the others had brought back with them. But he was exhausted... distraught and in shock, and she could still feel the sharp edges of his distress as if he was sending it to her deliberately. As though it was her own pain.

But she was pretty used to that sensation.

Her heart ached for him. He had never really told her his feelings about killing Darla...about the days and weeks afterward, when he had cried himself to sleep each sunrise, torn yet again between what he had once been, and what, in those days, he was only just becoming.

But the Slayer had been in the very darkest core of her beloved, and every one of his emotions and memories were as much a part of her as her own. She knew how much he hurt for, and because of, the one who made him.

What would it mean if Darla now had a soul too? How could Buffy possibly ever compete with the kind of cell-deep bond she and Angel had? How could their few years together ever measure up to over a century of shared life?

Angel's head shot up, and his dark eyes were wet with agony and exhaustion. "Don't think that, Buffy," he objected softly, "Don't ever think that."

She tenderly caressed his face, smoothing out the worried crease in his forehead. "I can't help it."

A bare shadow of a smile played on his lips, and Angel reached up to touch her cheek in return. "*You* are my Anam Cara... my chosen mate. Nothing can compete with that."

Buffy pulled up a second folding chair and sat down beside him. Both stared at the sleeping woman in the cage. Korin had taken time to clean her up, and dressed her in a loose nightgown that Cordelia kept in a room upstairs for emergency overnights.

Darla looked almost angelic in repose, her blonde hair clean and shining. Even the pale skin over her sunken cheeks was ethereally beautiful, touched with the glow of the dim basement light.

Buffy couldn't help the tiny part of her that wanted nothing more than to gouge the helpless vampire's eyes out... pull her hair and pummel that sweet face into unrecognizable goop.

Angel felt her jealousy, but said nothing.

"Do you really think she... has a soul?" Buffy asked quietly.

"I don't know. I guess we'll see, if she wakes up."

She blinked at him. "If?"

His expression didn't change from the mask of silent pain he had worn all morning, and his voice was flat. "She's starved half to death. And nobody knows exactly what this magick has done to her. How stable the revivification might be. She could turn to dust at any moment."

His lover swallowed hard. "Angel, if... if she's not... better, when she wakes up, I' ll... let me take care of it, okay?"

Angel turned slowly to look at her. "No. She's my responsibility. If she has to be put down, I'll be the one to do it."

Buffy didn't need their bond to feel his anguish at the thought -- his words were stained with it. She didn't understand, really, how he could be so torn about this... how his emotions could be so mixed up. Or why he felt that Darla was *his* responsibility. He didn't turn *her* into a vampire, it was the other way around. And he hadn't been the one who called her back from the Abyss of final death...

'No. But I was the one who put her there. She's blood, Buffy... and if she has a soul, then...'

Then they were the only two of their kind in existence. Angel didn't say it... didn't even think it, but Buffy could hear it nonetheless.

"Okay," she agreed, taking his hand. "We'll do this your way. But honey... she's going to be out for a while. You should come to bed. You need to rest."

He shook his head, not drawing his gaze away from the still figure in the cage. "I want to be here if she wakes up. I want to make sure she knows she's... safe."

Buffy sighed. "Then I'll stay with you."

Angel turned once more to glance at her, and gave a grateful smile as he squeezed her hand. "You should go to sleep, Alainn. You're exhausted. I can handle things here."

She frowned. "Don't even pull that on me. I'm not leaving you to deal with this alone, Angel. I don't care what you say. We share *everything*, including this. No...*especially* this."

He stared at his mate for a long time, feeling her protectiveness, her stubborn insistence... and still, her possessiveness.

'Together, remember?' she whispered through the link, 'You and me... until time ceases to be. That's the deal.'

Angel slowly leaned toward her, and brushed a kiss to that obstinate pout. "I could use some coffee."

Buffy's face positively lit the dank air around them. "How about espresso, for that extra special 'Guarding Your Unconscious Sire' kick?"

She got up and began to pull away, but he stopped her by capturing her hand and bringing it to his lips.

"Is duine a ghra thusa, mo gra."

Buffy smiled and gave his hand a squeeze. "I love you, too, Angel. Don't worry. We 'll figure out some way to help her. We'll make it through this," she promised, and with one long, final look into his face, disappeared up the stairs.

Angel watched until she was gone, then turned his weary eyes back to the cage. "I hope so, Ionuin. I really do."


	6. Blood, Boxers, and a Vampire Slayer

Spike was thinking about China. And blood.

He sat on the balcony outside his and Faith's room in the Hyperion, drinking what was left of Angel and Buffy's wine, gnawing on a chicken leg, and listening to the threat of the sunrise in his blood.

It always came down to blood, didn't it? Life, death, undeath... everything. Human or vampire, it was all about blood.

That night in Beijing was one of his sharpest, clearest memories -- the joy of Slayer blood. Rolling in it... dancing in it... bathing in it... glutting himself on it. He and Dru had made mad, violent love in virtual pools of the sticky, hot, magickal stuff. And when they were through, the two of them had danced in the streets, which too had stunk of fear and blood and death. It was a vampire paradise. He remembered wanting, more than anything, to find his Sire... to share all the sheer, overpowering joy exploding inside of him with the one who made it all possible. The one who raised him... taught him... created everything he was with his hands, teeth... and blood.

That was the night young William finally got it. Understood, in the deepest recess of his complete lack of soul, just what it was Angelus had gifted him with that cold London night. As if slaughtering that first Slayer had delivered the whole vampire handbook straight into his head, and all the stupid catchwords tossed about among his kind made perfect sense for the first time. Hunter. Power. Immortality. Kings of the Earth.

Angelus had even said it. "Congratulations. I guess that makes you one of us."

But even in his buoyant euphoria, Spike knew... somehow, along with all the rest of his inherited wisdom, he understood -- "us" didn't include his beloved Sire anymore.

Some part of him had known since his sudden reappearance, two nights before. He couldn't help but notice... how distant he was... how restrained and careful in the hunt. Spike's bitch of a GrandDam refused to explain why Angelus left them in Romania... and refused again when he vanished later that night.

It was a good hundred years before Spike knew the truth about what had been done to his Maker. Until he heard the words, "Gypsies cursed him with a soul." A century passed before they had come face to face again, and something about Angelus was all wrong. They stood in that dark school hallway, and this thing that looked like his Master clutched the Slayer's friend by the scruff of the neck... offering to drink with him, just like the old days...

But all along, Spike's *blood* knew. His heart of hearts could see, even when his brain couldn't put words to it.

He'd had nightmares almost every night for the first year after Angelus abandoned him. And again for the year after China. His blood had fairly screamed and wept for its source, as though the loss of his mentor and lover somehow poisoned him. Those were some of the worst nights he could recall... when he was certain, a whole damn lot of the time, that Drusilla's presence was the only thing keeping Spike from joining her in insanity... or wandering out into the sunrise.

The irony of that particular fact never escaped him.

And Darla. To this day, he could hardly even think the bitch's name without being overcome with a wave of resentment and hatred. In the beginning, it was all about hating to share Angelus with her... having her hold the same cell-deep power over his indomitable Sire as that Sire had over him. And then in the years after he'd gone, Spike hated being tied to her by duty... by need... by that goddamned blood. She was cruel and demanding, and seemed to go out of her way at every turn to punish he and Dru for *not* being Angelus. It was only her eventual return to her own Master that had finally set him free. The Order wasn't interested in coddling Angelus' mad Childe, she told him, and Spike refused to leave her out in the sun, where they insisted she belonged. Without their mutual Sire's protection, he and his princess were vulnerable to the whims of the standing Master. And so he had told his GrandDam to go fuck herself, and they ran. He would have died for his black goddess...

That part -- that perfect century with his beloved -- was more than just the tie of blood. But it was blood, too.

Always blood.

.//And speaking of...//

Faith's charmed scent seemed twice as potent as usual when she returned to their room. He figured it was probably because he was thinking so hard about the damned crimson drug that tied him to this whole friggin' freakshow that made him think that she smelled even sweeter than she did every day.

Spike watched her enter. Watched the pulse throbbing in her neck as she shed her filthy clothes and went to take a shower.

Blood. Slayerblood. The whole concept meant something new to him, now. Once, the life essence of a Chosen One had been a prize to claim. A heady narcotic as reward for the toughest kill there was.

But Spike had a new relationship with that stuff his kind depended on to exist. And a new view of Slayers, too. Vampire sex was naturally all tied up with violence and bloodshed, and with Faith, there was plenty of sex. Plenty of sweet, erotic violence...

But there was never any blood. She wouldn't let him anywhere near her fine neck when they were shagging--and not for lack of trying on his part, either. He vamped out pretty much every time they went at it -- it was a natural response. And while that in itself didn't seem to freak her out at all, if he made any move toward her tender throat in that condition, that was the end of that, and he usually ended up spending a sunrise or two in a sewer somewhere, with nothing for company but a bottle of whiskey.

Now his blood was aching and itching with the presence of his Sire and his Sire's Sire... three of four of their family under the same roof for the first time in years.

And it could turn out that two of them had souls.

Everything was changing. He could feel it just as sure as he could feel hunger and lust boiling up as one sensation in his gut.

He got up from his chair slowly, his body unnaturally stiff -- hunting muscles gone soft from disuse. He stood outside the closed bathroom door, and listened. Faith's heartbeat was louder to his ears than the pounding shower water that he knew she loved skin-peeling hot... and he could smell her, still. The musk of her skin... the sticky sweet aroma of her magick. It called him, he would swear on his left nut, by name. Begged him to come. Take her. Screw her until she screamed and drink her until she was nothing but a withered shell.

They used to call him the SlayerAxe. He wondered -- what would they call him now?

Spike opened the door and stepped into the steam. His lover hummed tunelessly... he didn't recognize the song. Didn't really care to. But the other song came, loud and clear. The call that he couldn't heed anymore, and yet... still he couldn't shut it out, anymore than the hunger it engendered.

It was all part of her allure, he imagined as he stripped out of his own sewage and blood encrusted clothes. The danger of being naked and vulnerable in the presence of his worst enemy. The irony... always that damned irony... that not so long ago, he would have torn her apart and danced on her pieces.

He would have bathed, once again, in the blood of a Slayer.

But now? What did he want from her now? What did he feel? He felt lost... scrambled. Cold. He wanted to touch her... connect with her. Feel the warmth of her skin flow over his.

But above all of this...

.//Her blood washing down my throat.//

The call of the hunt.

He slid open the shower-stall door, and for a moment, just stared at her... her full breasts... her slim hips and long, tight legs. All of her skin flushed red with the scalding water... with the blood it brought to the surface. Her body arched into the spray like a Goddess rising from the sea, her graceful, slender arms reaching up to shampoo all those miles and miles of thick sorrel hair. Her eyes shut tight, full lips hanging slack.

.//Fucking beautiful. Delicious.//

Faith opened those enormous, expressive eyes and looked at him... a knowing little smile quirked her mouth. Spike could smell the lust in her blood to see him there, and his body responded in kind.

"You getting in, or are you just gonna stand there and gawk all day?" she purred.

He blinked. Arrogant. Cocksure. Slayer attitude. Didn't she know that if he could just set aside the brain-melting chip pain, that he could kill her, right there and then? That he could snap her neck, and rip what she refused him straight from the charmed font at her throat?

She thought he was tame. Safe. A toothless, clawless tiger. She trusted him. Faith, the Vampire Slayer, was naked and wet... unguarded and beckoning him, William the Bloody -- legendary Killer of Slayers... the First Made and protege of the legendary Scourge of Europe. A monster. A killer. A murderer of her kind.

Spike climbed into the shower behind her, and slid the door shut.

He stared in rapt fascination at her glistening, tanned skin... the rivulets of water slipping like quicksilver down the lean, muscular lines of her back.

Faith reached over her shoulder, and handed him the soap. He took it, entranced by his own motions... by the red haze that surrounded everything. He lathered up his hands... his butcher's hands. Hands that had ripped heads from bodies... that had clutched the innocent as he drank from their veins. Those same hands now slid down her back... slicked over her fine shoulders, down to her waist... smoothing the curves of her hips... her ass.

Touching the Slayer.

The demon inside him roared, and the lust for both blood and flesh blazed, making his cock jerk painfully with the rush of borrowed blood through his system. He let his hands move of their own accord... the way a human's hands would move, the soap lubricating his caress. He slicked over her breasts, down the flat plane of her belly, finally sliding between her ass-kicking thighs... crushing thighs he'd felt squeezing him... making his ribs crack as they clamped around him.

"Slayer..." he hissed into her ear.

"Yessss..." she gasped, arching into his touch.

Spike didn't bother with grace. Utility... efficiency... get to the good stuff, that had always been his modus operandi. And maybe he couldn't kill her... couldn't even taste her... but he could sure as Hell fuck her, and he wasn't going to waste any precious moments on useless niceties.

He braced one hand against her belly and one between her shoulder blades, and bent her body forward. She reached out automatically, leaning her weight on her hands against the wall, and raised one foot up on the edge of the tub, opening herself wide to him.

A snarl ripped from his chest at the sight of the submissive Slayer, and without preamble, he bent at the knee between her legs, and slammed himself home in one perfect thrust.

Faith cried out, bucking against him as he impaled her, driving his cold cock deep into her searing hot core. He could hear her heart thundering... almost feel it against his chest... hear the blood he so desperately craved rushing between her legs, and he imagined it was his fangs violating her flesh as he set a long, hard, punishing rhythm inside of her.

The coupling was fast... vicious... purely animal. A rut. A fuck. Mating and nothing more. Spike's body pulled tight in less than a minute as Faith moaned and hitched beneath him, her supernaturally strong inner muscles like a vice grip of flesh and blood and life clamping down around him. He roared as he came, driving brutally into her, and automatically vamping out, tangling his fist in her long hair... yanking her head back to expose the throbbing, pulsing artery... opened his jaws with a snarl, and...

"YES! CHRIST, SPIKE! TAKE ME!" Faith howled.

He froze. In his mind's eye, he did. He took her. He drank her dry. He felt her heart stop and her strong body go limp in his arms. He watched her die, and the demon that was him threw its head back and wailed in supreme victory as he let her corpse drop to the floor.

"Fuck!" he barked, and pushed her roughly away, threw open the stall door, raged back into the bedroom, and threw himself face down on the bed.

Faith came out a moment later, wrapped in a towel, and sat down beside him. For a few minutes, she was quiet and still beside him, but finally reached out to lay a gentle hand on the small of his back.

"Hey... what's up with you?" she asked, her breath still short.

.//I wanted to kill you.//

"Nuthin'," he grumbled.

"Okay, I'm no Doctor Ruth, but I'm thinking that wasn't nothing. Come on Spike, what' s going on? Talk to me."

.//Smelling my Sire and GrandSire in this house makes me want to hunt. Makes me want to gorge on your blood. I want to eat your heart straight out of your chest. Hang your intestines around my neck.//

"Don' wanna talk."

She moved away and stretched out at the end of the bed with her feet resting on the floor. From where he was, Spike could see her pretty toes, the nail of each one painted a deep burgundy. He loved the Slayers feet. Loved to suck on them...bite them... rub them all over his body... loved watching her and Buffy and Cordelia, out in the courtyard, laughing and painting their nails in the sunshine...

"I don' wanna go through all this bullshit again," he mumbled.

"What bullshit?"

Spike turned over and sat up. "This soul bullshit. All the fuckin' Angel and Darla bullocks. I don't want to deal with watching her fucking dominate him... or watchin' him go all batshit because of it."

Faith sat up, her eyebrows raising in surprise. "I didn't think you cared that much."

He frowned, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. The taste of his own cold, dead blood did nothing but piss him off more.

"I *don't* care," he snapped, "But I *finally* got used to this fucking sorry-assed piece of shit that's my bloody useless life, and I don't wanna see it all goddamn change!"

She smiled indulgently, as if he were a pouting child. "Nothing's going to change, Spike. You're buggin' over nothing."

He glared at his lover, the image of her dead body cradled in his arms still clear in his mind.

"No? You don't think so, huh? Then you're fucking *deluded*, sweetheart! You heard the friggin' fag monster! We're hurtling headlong into some ugly, fucking twisted bullocks, and I'd bet my bloody canines it's all tied into that bitch downstairs! If my fucking sorry-assed Sire had half a soddin' brain in his head, he'd stake her right now and save us all a whole goddamn shitload of misery!"

Faith leaned back, bracing her weight on her arms, seemingly unruffled by his angry shouting. "That's more or less what I said. He didn't want to hear it."

"Yeah? Well, give it a day or two. Every damn one of those idiots will be screaming for her dust, believe me. I lived with that cunt for close to fifty years -- they don 't have clue number *one* what she's like."

She studied her lover's face carefully. There was so much going on in his stormy blue eyes. All kinds of stuff she knew full well that he wasn't sharing. He always played so tough...

"Maybe she was a bitch. But what if she has a soul?"

Spike snorted loudly and jumped up from the bed, pulling on a clean pair of jeans that he grabbed from his bureau.

"Slayer... soul or no, that bitch is nothing but *bad news*. And I don't wanna be stuck taking care a you lot 'cause Angelus is all fucked up over her. He's bound by blood to take care of her. Add to that mix *his* poncy goddamn soul, and it all adds up to a whole goddamn lot of trouble that nobody's ready for."

She watched him as he lit a cigarette and began to pace the room.

"So the psycho shower scene was... what... you throwing a hissy fit 'cause you don't like Darla?" she ventured.

Spike stopped and spun, laying a deadly glare on her. "You don't fucking *get* it, do you? You think just because you're an expert in dusting us, you know one goddamn thing about what we *are*??? That bitch chained up in the friggin' basement is the *Source*, pet! She's our fucking *origin*, the both of us! It doesn't fucking *matter* if she has a soul! The demons don't give a flying *fuck* about that! Or chips either, for that matter! And nobody bloody well gives a fuck that she just *appeared* out of thin air, brought back from fucking HELL by Christ knows who, and just *happens* to have a slave that knows exactly where to find Angel?!"

Faith jumped a little at his tone... and the unsettling implication of his words. Waves of violence crashed off of him and onto her, setting her Slayer alarms screaming.

"You're not afraid Angel will go nuts... you're afraid you will," she guessed.

"You're GODDAMN RIGHT!" Spike raged, "I'm so fucking *starving* for something hot and *alive*, the fucking chip's screaming every time I'm around you lot! Those two downstairs? They got *souls* -- they got a choice! Me, I got *pain*.. Fucking hunger and not a goddamn thing else!"

Faith got up from the bed, letting her towel fall to the floor, and slunk over to him, laying a warm hand on his bare chest. He stared at her as though she was some creature about to devour him.

"You've got me," she purred suggestively, reaching down to undo the button fly of his jeans. She slid a small hand inside and stroked his already hardening member. "And I can take a whole Hell of a lot of abuse."

Spike blinked at her. "What?"

Still holding his erection firmly, Faith closed her eyes and tilted her head back, offering her throat. "You said you want something alive and hot? I'm alive and hot."

His cock jumped against her hand, and his mouth dropped open. "Are you *daft*? I could kill you, you stupid bint!" he yelped when he realized her intent.

She opened her eyes once more, letting go of his hard-on, and used both hands to yank his jeans down to his ankles, urging him to step out of them before standing up once more. She looked squarely into his wild eyes as she pulled him back toward the bed, then tumbled down onto the mattress. As he gaped, Faith spread her long legs wide and slipped one hand into the folds of her swollen, heated flesh.

"You could..." she moaned softly, caressing herself. "But I don't think you will. Come on, Spike. You're the Big Bad. Take me. I know you want to..."

He stared at her for another moment, frozen. He watched in rapt fascination as one of her long fingers disappeared inside her wet channel... then he dropped down to the bed, lowering himself slowly on top of her, watching her eyes for signs that she was going to bolt.

"You...sure about this, Pet?" he asked softly.

Faith nodded, wrapping her legs around his waist and reaching between them to guide him into her. With an arch of her back, he was seated to the hilt inside her once more.

"Do me, vampire," she growled, "Let's see what you've got."

Spike smiled, giving a couple of shallow thrusts.

He hadn't even had to ask. All these months, he'd been thinking about it, and Faith just suggested it out of the blue. To make him feel better. Just like that.

He withdrew until he was almost all the way outside of her, and paused for a moment to look down. Faith was still flushed from the hot shower, her eyes heavy lidded with this whole new lust. Her wet hair splayed out over the bedspread, and she ran her long nails languidly up and down his back... just enough pain, but never too much.

"Christ, you're beautiful," he murmured breathily, and bowed his head to capture those full, pouty lips.

Faith sighed as he eased deep inside her once more, squeezing her inner muscles in encouragement.

Spike took his time bringing them both to the very peak of bliss with long, smooth strokes. Movements so deliberate, they almost brought him to tears... ecstatic pain... rapturous torture in one. Almost as good as the thrill of the hunt, this tension, this building anticipation. He could have stayed that way forever, fucking her easy and unhurried.

But she was already teetering on the edge of explosion, her throaty cries growing louder, more desperate, and this might be the only chance he ever got to taste her... he wanted her steaming hot... ripe... ready...

"Spike! Oh... yes... fuck!" she moaned.

He could smell the change in her scent... almost feel the hormones rushing off her skin in a storm of pleasure. Her heartbeat accelerated, the blood pulsating with hot, sticky-sweet ecstasy... the only taste better than fear, and even Slayer-magick, in human blood.

Faith cried out, arched hard beneath him, carrying them both up off the mattress, throwing her head back to once again expose that long, fine, throbbing column of flesh.

Spike felt the change come over him... teeth elongating, facial contours expanding, and without ever having a conscious thought to do it, gave in at last to his raging hunger, and lunged for her throat.

The Slayer exploded with a scream as his fangs sunk into her, and her life's essence rushed into him... washing his lips, his tongue, setting his throat, then his belly, on fire. Her magick thundered through him as he drank, taking jaw-breaking gulps of her as she dug her nails convulsively into his shoulders.

His orgasm hit like a consuming backdraft. Spike ripped his teeth from her and thrust his whole body forward, slamming home a long, shuddering series of thrusts as he came with an ear-splitting howl.

It was a long while before either vampire or Slayer regained consciousness, and when they finally did, Faith found herself lying curled up on her side, with Spike spooned tight behind her, his arms encircling her protectively.

"Shit," she gasped softly.

"Holy, mother-fucking shit," Spike agreed.

She turned over slowly in his arms, her body loose and exhausted, and looked into his face.

"Feel better?" she whispered, reaching up to stroke his hair. She was surprised to find that the whole thing had been so... nice... intimate. She had been afraid to let him feed from her, even when they had already played some mighty rough games together. She was afraid it would hurt... afraid what it might do to her already tenuous hold on her emotions. But really, it turned out that being bitten by a vampire (at least, *this* vampire) wasn't so bad after all. In fact... she loved it.

He cocked an eyebrow at her in response.

Faith grinned. "I'm gonna take that as a yes."

"First hot meal I've had in a good while," he drawled, and drew her in for a soft kiss. When he pulled away again, his expression was serious. "Thanks, Slayer."

She closed her eyes and nuzzled up under his chin. "No sweat, Willy-boy," she mumbled, and was instantly asleep.

Spike held her and listened to his entire body hum, and wondered just how everything that had happened in the past 24 hours would serve to change them all.


	7. Undone

"It's sort of like magickal valium," Willow concluded. " Wesley will know where to get all the stuff you need."

Buffy stared at the spell on her best friend had just faxed. "Great. Thanks, Will," she said flatly.

"Buffy... are you sure you're okay with all of this? I mean... maybe Faith is right. Maybe you should just..."

"No," the Slayer interrupted, "We can't. Angel wants to..." she swallowed hard. "He wants to wait until she wakes up so he can... talk to her. He thinks he can help."

"You sound so enthusiastic about that," Willow commented.

"Yeah, well... I was completely on the side of staking, too. In fact, pretty much everybody was. But we got vetoed by the president," she complained, resisting the urge to start screaming in frustration, as she'd felt like doing for days now.

"Mm. I guess this is sort of his specialty. In more ways than one."

Buffy sighed so deeply, she could feel it in her toes. "Too many ways for me."

Willow heard so much in her best friend's voice: worry, anger, confusion, weariness, jealousy. The whole situation made her head ache. Since Buffy and Angel had been back together, things had always been rough -- dire, even, sometimes. But through it all, they had both remained... certain. Content, somehow. Especially in the months after they'd learned to control the link. The pair was closer than ever, from what she could see. Angel especially had been happier than the Witch had ever seen him in all the years they'd known each other. He was more open and friendly, and wore an easy smile most of the time. Buffy fairly glowed with love and joy, even when they were facing some Big Evil that could kill them all horribly.

But in the four days since Darla had been chained in their basement, it was hard to miss the dark tone of misery in both of her friends' voices. Like their spirits were being crushed by the whole thing. To say that she, Giles, and everybody else in Sunnydale were worried was a pretty fierce understatement.

"Maybe you should come home and stay with me and Tara for a few days," she suggested gently, already pretty certain she knew what the answer would be, "Just until things calm down some."

"I can't. Angel needs me."

More or less exactly what Willow had been expecting.

"But... you said he's... not really talking to you. Or... sleeping or anything."

Buffy closed her eyes and struggled not to listen to the echo of the gaping emptiness in her heart and soul where her bond with Angel usually hummed. He had been keeping her completely locked out while he maintained his silent vigil in the basement. She went down every now and again and sat with him for a few hours, holding his hand, but Angel didn't talk much beyond standard one word answers to her questions. He reluctantly accepted the blood she brought down for him with barely a thanks.

She had known from the moment Darla came into their lives that things would change... but she never thought it would be so quickly... or so much. Four nights ago, they had been talking, dancing... laughing and making love together. They were happy. Now Angel was practically a stranger. A shell of the man she loved more than life itself.

"He's not, but... I can't leave him. He's so hurt, Will. And confused. Eventually, he's going to want... I don't know what. But I'm going to be here when he wants it."

Willow bit her tongue, holding back an angry comment about how neither of them could afford to let Darla suck them in to whatever her game was. That the vampire's return from the dead was probably meant to do exactly what it was doing -- tear apart the strongest fighting unit in their endless war against evil. She was as squishy-hearted as the next chick, and no one understood more how circumstances could rip a great relationship apart. But she couldn't help but want to remind her best friend of the bigger picture.

How could she do that, though, when it sounded like Buffy's heart was breaking -- again? What difference did some stupid battle make if she felt like she was losing her reason for fighting in the first place?

"Okay, but... if you change your mind..."

Buffy tried to muster a smile -- though for what, she had no idea, since Willow couldn't see it anyway -- but it was like her facial muscles were stuck permanently in the "down" position. "Thanks. And for the spells, too. I'm sure they'll help when she... wakes up."

"Yeah. They should. Oh, here. Giles wants to talk to you."

"Buffy?"

The sound of her mentor's voice was an even bigger relief than hearing Willow's had been, and Buffy found her eyes suddenly flooded with tears she hadn't even realized were threatening.

"Hey, Giles," she replied softly.

"How are you?"

She found herself thinking about that question much more deeply -- and for longer -- than she usually might. So long, in fact, that Giles had to interrupt her pained reverie.

"Buffy?"

"Oh. Right. Sorry. I forgot that question is supposed to have a really simple answer. Like... 'fine' or 'crappy'."

Giles sighed. It seemed as though there was a lot of that going on amongst their group. The denizens of Sunnydale seemed unusually depressed of late, as well.

"Willow tells me that Darla has yet to regain consciousness."

Buffy cast a woeful glance toward the cellar door. "She hardly moves at all, except for a little bit when Korin... force-feeds her."

"Hm. Well... I'm certain that... that everything will be..." he stammered, then trailed off.

Buffy snorted. "Be what, Giles? What could 'everything' possibly be at this point but *bad*? Everybody's tiptoeing around this place like somebody *died*. Except Angel, of course, who sits in the basement all day and all night waiting for the monster who *killed him* to wake up so he can give her a little souled vamp to souled vamp *therapy*! Yeah, everything's gonna be *great*, I'm sure!"

Giles was silent in the wake of her angry outburst.

"I'm sorry," she finally whispered, "Just... I'm so worried about him, Giles. I can't even get close enough to read him, and... it... it just..."

"Hurts?" he ventured.

"A lot. Like... worse than being ground up in a food processor. God. You know, I thought that after... I thought we could get through *anything* together. But this?" She paused for a moment, once again forced to stop before her emotions got the best of her. "Maybe Will's right. Maybe I should come back to Sunnydale for a while."

Giles' heart fairly broke at the pain in Buffy's voice. It had taken him a long time, and a lot of personal soul-searching, to come to terms with her and Angel's reunion. Even longer to fully accept and embrace it. But he had ultimately been unable to deny either their importance to one another, or their combined importance to the world.

Truth be told, over the past year, he had come to consider Angel a friend once more. He enjoyed the vampire's company... most especially his ability to speak intelligently regarding a great many arcane and historical topics which only Wesley was usually able to discuss. He admired and respected his strength and honorability... not to mention his utterly selfless treatment of, and devotion to, the woman who was the closest thing Giles would ever have to a daughter. Angel was, by extension of that alone, practically his son-in-law.

He found, much to even his own surprise, that he had come to value that connection.

To see the couple coming unraveled so suddenly... so easily... unnerved him. They needed to stand together on far more than a simple personal level (if there could ever be such a thing, with these two) -- their unity appeareared to be directly tied to the very fate of the dimension. The more of the Sha'an Tal Edict that he and Wesley deciphered, the clearer that fact seemed to be. Whatever this Gate was, it would be the deciding factor in who would ultimately win the Great War... and all signs indicated that Buffy and Angel would be central in controlling that Gate.

But... it was still, ultimately, Buffy's well-being that came first in his heart.

"Of course, if that's what you need to do, Buffy, then you know you are always welcome here. But... I think perhaps you should give it more time. This must be a terrible shock for Angel. I'm certain that his behavior is meant to protect you, not shut you out. The bond between Sire and Childe is a complex issue. Something no human can fully understand, I think. And with Angel's particular circumstances... You must try to be patient, Buffy. It has, after all, only been a few days."

Buffy's voice was subdued as she replied. " I know. It's just... hard. I'm so used to sharing everything with him. Feeling what he's feeling, knowing what he's thinking. It's been so long since there were any secrets between us. To have him go back to full Mystery Guy mode is just..." she closed her eyes, once again fighting to hold back tears. "It hurts so much, Giles. I don't want to lose him. Not now. Not after... everything..."

Half of him wanted to laugh, the notion of the two of them splitting up forever seemed so absurd. But he refrained, knowing that this was serious... and both of his family members were in great pain. "I think that's the least of your worries. Angel adores you, Buffy. That, at least, is abundantly clear. You will muddle through this together, just as you have every other difficult obstacle you've faced. And... as much as you may not want to consider it right now, the fact is, if Darla does indeed have a soul... she might prove to be an invaluable source of information about the Sanguinati... and about this new Master that is about to rise."

She bit down hard on her lip. With all the pain that was ripping her and Angel apart right now, the last thing she wanted to think about was how they might need the bitch that was doing the ripping to save the world.

"I know," she sighed, "I have to keep telling myself that so I don't just march down there and stick a stake in her."

~~~~~

When she opened her eyes, Darla's first coherent thought was that there had been some terrible mistake, and she had somehow ended up in Heaven.

There sat her long-lost mate, leaning his forearms on his knees, his beautiful, dark eyes trained on her with an unreadable expression.

"Angelus?" she whispered, unable to quite believe it was real.

He sat up slowly, and as the light struck his handsome face, she noticed the weary lines marking his features. Surely in Heaven her boy wouldn't look so profoundly sad...

But he said nothing.

Darla pulled herself upright, slowly and painfully, every one of her muscles screaming in protest.

.//What...//

She looked around and found that she was locked in a cage... and chained to the floor by her ankle.

The second coherent emotion she had was confusion.

"Where am I? What is this?" she asked, holding up her manacled wrists.

Angelus sat perfectly still, no part of him moving but his eyes, which tracked her as she forced herself up from the bedclothes laid out on the cement floor.

.//Perhaps this is Hell, after all. How apropos, that he should be my jailer.//

"You're in my home in Los Angeles," he finally replied, as though he had taken those few long minutes to decide how to answer. His tone was as carefully guarded as his expression, and she could determine nothing about the situation from his words.

"Your... home?" she murmured, glancing around at the room. A cluttered basement... dank, but warmed by the heat of a roaring fire in the furnace some feet behind him. "You have a dungeon in your home, do you?"

The third thing she felt was anger, boiling quickly in her blood. The demon's instinct to freedom forcing its way through the haze of confusion.

"I have friends who are were-folk," he offered in explanation, but his affect remained flat. Lifeless.

She laughed at her own pun. Angelus' expression darkened at the sound of it.

"Have I been bitten by a werewolf, then?" she snapped, surprising even herself with the venom in her voice, "Is it the full moon, and you're waiting for me to change?"

Why was she suddenly so angry with him?

Before he could respond any further, a wave of nausea hit her like a tidal wave, and she stumbled backward in its wake, falling hard onto the makeshift bed upon which she had been laying.

**Do you know what the saddest thing in the world is?

Bad hair on top of that outfit?**

She shook her head against the invading voices... one she could almost swear was her own. When the dizziness eased and she looked up once more, she found Angelus on his feet, closer to her prison.

Where was she? Why was she here? Why was he here? What happened to them? The last thing she remembered was...

Darla gasped. Nothing. She couldn't remember the last thing she remembered. Pictures began to flash through her mind... moments mashing together in an unidentifiable mess... time scrambling, memories and nightmares crashing through her with no root in reality.

They began to slow until she could finally see them...

And then the pain began. Agony like a thousand swords piercing her skull... claws ripping at her heart.

She clutched her head as the torture of her reeling mind wracked her... so many emotions at once that she could not identify one before the next began. Were they her feelings? Her memories? Had she gone mad?

Darla forced her pained gaze upward and only realized that she was screaming when she saw that her beloved's face was no longer blank. He was staring at her with his own pain... and guilt... clear in his dark eyes.

His soulful eyes.

"OH GOD! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?! ANGELUS!" she wailed, curling defensively in on herself. She felt her Childe move closer... opened her eyes to see his feet only inches from the cage door. But he made no move to enter.

The visions began to rush by again in a blinding torrent. Pictures of herself... her Master... Angelus... her GrandChilder... mountains of bodies and oceans of blood pounding down on her. And words. Echoing words in voices both familiar and foreign, shrieking at her... "Monster!"; "My sweet lamb..."; "MURDERER!"; "Darla, my dove..."; "BUTCHER! SINNER! ABOMINATION! WHORE!!!"

She had once, in her early days as a vampire, been caught in an avalanche in the Swiss Alps. Buried for days under tons of snow... no room to move, no air to scream. She was young, then... inexperienced. She didn't yet know just to wait until her blood told her the sun was gone and then dig her way out. She had simply panicked, breaking almost every bone in her body in the struggle to get free.

The same sensation--the same terror and panic--gripped her now. She changed to demon face, fighting against chains that, had she been in her right mind, she would have immediately known were magickal. She struggled, and she shrieked at her Childe, who remained still outside her prison, refusing to help.

She understood that this was all somehow his doing.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME, ANGELUS!? HELP ME! DAMN YOU!" she raged.

Angel was utterly frozen in place, torn by so many conflicting urges and emotions, he was unable to act on a single one. All he could do was stand there and close his eyes against her pain.

A few moments after Darla began to scream, the door to the basement crashed open, and Buffy, Cordelia, and a cross-bow-wielding Wesley came rushing down the stairs.

"What's going on?" Buffy shouted, "Angel? Are you okay?"

Cordelia clamped her hands over her ears. "Oh my God! What did you do to her?"

"Angel, what's happened?!" Wesley called out, training the crossbow on the enraged creature screaming in agony inside the cage, ready to loose the bolt at a single word from his stunned friend.

"Go back upstairs," he said so quietly that he could barely be heard above Darla's shrieking.

Buffy ran over to him and reached out by habit both physically and to touch him through the link. He roughly brushed off her hand, and shoved her out of his mind, turning a furious gaze on her.

"I SAID, GO BACK UPSTAIRS, BUFFY!"

She started, blinking up at him in horrified shock. Never, in all of the time that they had known one another, had he ever raised his voice at her so violently in anger.

As they stared at each other, Korin came hurrying down, screaming for her Mistress, and clung to the bars of the cage, begging The Aurelius to grant her entry.

Angel abruptly turned away from his mate and unlocked the door. He swung it open and stepped inside as the fairy dove to calm her rabid mistress.

Darla clung to the girl, sobbing pitifully... less now in rage than in fear. "What's happening to me? It HURTS!"

Buffy watched helplessly as Angel dropped into a crouch beside her, and reached out to gently stroke her hair. "It'll be all right, Darla. You're safe. I'm here."

The vampire pushed Korin away and collapsed into his arms. Angel held her tightly to his chest as she keened on.

At that, the Slayer turned and ran back upstairs, shoving her friends out of the way as she went, and slammed the door behind her.

Wesley and Cordelia exchanged a pained glance before the Englishman said, "I'll get the spells ready."

Angel wasn't listening. He was too lost in the raging storm in his blood, as he cradled his suffering Sire, to hear either his friend's voice, or the broken-hearted sobbing of his lover that echoed in her wake.


	8. Hunger

"Stop looking at me like that," Darla snapped. "I don't want your *pity*, Angelus. And why do you insist on sitting there, anyway? I have nothing to say to you."

Angel patiently set down the book he'd been reading and sat forward in the chair he had placed just outside the range of movement her chains allowed, folding his hands over his knees and resting his weight on his forearms.

"Maybe you don't now. But you might," he replied softly.

Darla snorted at him. "And I *might* sprout wings and a halo and take up the harp! Why don't you just run off and play with your Slayer or whatever it is you do, and leave me alone?"

She had been awake for three days now, and Willow's spell had managed to keep her form dissolving into hysterics again, which allowed them to move the vampire to one of the hotel's unoccupied rooms. But calm or not, her mood continued to careen from angry and abusive to morose and silent, so Angel or one of the others continued to keep an eye on her.

He fully intended to be there when she finally decided to face what had happened, and talk about it. Granted, it was promising to be a very long wait, but if there was anything he had gained in his long life, it was patience. So he continued to take the majority of the shifts, and came to sit with her in tense, angry silence.

"I can't do that, Darla," he informed her for the thousandth time. "We need to deal with this."

She shot him a deadly glare. "*This*, Angelus? *YOU* did *this* to me! Do you seriously believe I have even a drop of desire for your *help*?" The tiny blonde stomped toward him, moving as close as her bonds allowed, and pointed in his face. "You *KILLED* me! I believe that thoroughly disqualifies you as my *savior*!"

He nodded. "You're right. But that's not why I'm here. You need support. I won't let you go through this alone."

Darla laughed bitterly. "Oh, I see! So I'm part of your *penance* now, hm? How very *charming*! Well, you can sit there until doomsday, for all I care!"

She spun and threw herself down on the bed, facing away from him.

Angel sighed. "That's fine. But I'm still not going anywhere."

"Fine!" she barked.

"Good," he replied.

They lapsed back into the silence that filled most of their time together, and Angel once again had to fight the urge to press the issue. Ask all of the questions that filled his mind while he was with her. He desperately wanted to understand the similarities and differences in their circumstances.

And then, of course, there were the questions the others had, which he had so far chosen not to address. Why was she here? What did she know about the plans of the Sanguinati, if anything?

A soft knock on the suite door interrupted his thoughts, and Angel rose quickly to answer it. He found Buffy on the other side, armed with a smile and a tray bearing two large plastic containers of blood, and...

A package of Double Stuff Oreos.

He couldn't help the little grin that snuck upon him as he accepted her offering. "Are we supposed to dunk those?" he teased, nodding to the cookies.

Buffy gave him a fake scowl. "I'll have you know, Mr. Smarty-Vampire-Pants, that Double Stuff Oreos are better than Prozac for evening out the mood."

He chuckled and returned to the room with his lover in tow. "I doubt that very much."

Darla got up and once again pulled to the end of her tether, reminding Buffy of an angry dog on a leash. The vampire looked a lot better... she'd gained some weight, and, apparently, some attitude. She gave Buffy the same disdainful once-over that she did each time the Slayer came to visit.

"Oh, joy. The cheerleader's back. Finally come to stake me, little Buffy?"

Buffy gave her a chilly smile. "You wish."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I *do*," she snarled, "Or more accurately, I would love for you to unchain me, and *try*."

Angel stepped between them. "Okay, that's enough. No one is getting staked today unless I say so." He set down the snack tray Buffy had brought on the nearest end table, and gently herded her from the room.

"She just keeps getting sweeter and sweeter," Buffy complained as they reached the outer door.

"It's going to take some time, but... I think she'll come around," Angel replied.

She turned and stepped into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She didn't for a moment believe that her lover's Sire would suddenly change her attitude... not in a week... or a century. Darla abused everyone she came in contact with, making venomous comments about anything she could think to mock, and promised each one of them that when she was free once more, they were all going to pay.

Angel insisted she was just lashing out in confusion and pain, and that once she learned she could really trust them, she would start to open up.

Buffy didn't particularly *want* her to open up. And frankly, she was far more convinced of Darla's assessment of the situation than Angel's. Hence the stake that had become practically a constant accessory in her wardrobe over the past week.

But for Angel's sake, she kept her reservations to herself. He seemed to have genuine hope for the redemption of the creature that made him, and there was no way she was going to take that away.

He held her close, brushing gentle kisses into her hair. The last few days really had been easier for him, now that he made sure to take some time every night to share the latest news with Buffy. He found himself genuinely glad that she had made the effort to... convince him. It helped him to keep his own continued confusion and mixed feelings over the situation to talk them through with her.

The only problem was, despite her genuine efforts to the contrary, he could feel that his Sire's presence was starting to wear on her.

"Mm," she said non-committally.

Angel pulled away and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, softly brushing the cheek he bared.

"400 years can't be undone in a week," he reminded her.

"Yeah, I know," she smiled up at him, leaning a little closer. "But Doctor Angel's on the case. Her Big Bitchiness doesn't stand a chance."

He winked. "How can I fail with Nurse Buffy to back me up?"

"*Nurse* Buffy? How sexist," she purred, standing up on tiptoe for a kiss.

"What can I say? You bring out the chauvinist in me," he replied and gave her a gentle push out into the hall.

"Tell me about it," she shot over her shoulder as she walked away, blowing him one final kiss as the elevator doors shut in front of her.

Angel smiled after her for a few moments before he returned to the room to be greeted by Darla's nasty smirk.

"Aw. You two kids are so sweet," she drawled. "Such a poignant, tragic, star-crossed love story... a 250-year old serial killer and a girl barely old enough to *drive*. Who wouldn't pay five dollars to sob through that epic in a movie theater?"

Angel picked up one of the containers of blood and approached her. "Actually, movies are closer to nine dollars, now." He held out the large, covered plastic cup. "Here. Eat."

Darla stared at the container as though it were filled with holy water. "I told you, I'm not eating that *slop*."

He continued holding it toward her. "You need to feed, Darla. The spoiled child routine won't change that fact. Eat."

The vampire hauled off and slammed the container from his hand, sending it splattering against the far wall.

"I am a VAMPIRE, you sanctimonious IDIOT! And so are you! Do you think that drinking the blood of *animals* makes that any less true? Or is existing on that cold, flavorless *offal* part of your eternal contrition? I'd rather *starve* than stoop so low!"

"Fine with me," Angel growled, feeling the edges of his temper finally begin to fray. "I'll just have to shoot you full of drugs and force it down your throat again."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you, *boy*?" she hissed, narrowing her eyes at him. "You finally get your chance to dominate *me*. You never could stand being under the control of a female, could you, *Liam*?"

He chuckled softly as he settled back into his chair with his own meal.

"Now you're just grasping," he pointed out. "Running out of snide comments about my virility and intelligence already, Darla? I'm disappointed."

"Joke all you like, Angelus. You are still an abomination! *Look* at you!" she gestured angrily at him, and then around the room. "What *are* you? A legendary vampire reduced to living like some *human*? You *stink* of Slayer musk and the gore of *swine*! It's disgusting! I should have destroyed you when I had the chance! I'm ashamed to have created you -- a traitor! To me and to your very racce! I'd rather *die* than have one *sliver* of your pity! Filthy, disgusting VERMIN!" She calmed suddenly, and her trademark cold leer returned. "But then... I guess you are what you eat."

Angel watched her outburst with an expression of vague disinterest as he drained the container, then set it back down on the tray.

"Feel better?" he asked calmly.

"No, I don't feel better, you oaf! I'm a *prisoner*! Why don't you just *destroy* me? Because, I assure you, my dear boy, given the opportunity, I *will* destroy you!"

He nodded sagely and popped an Oreo into his mouth. "You may think so, but I don't think you would."

Darla gave a cold chuckle and sat down on the edge of the bed once more. "Really. And why on Earth would you believe such a stupid thing?"

"Because you have a soul, now, Darla," he replied matter-of-factly, "And whether you realize it, or accept it yet or not, that changes everything."

An expression of pure rage and disgust flashed across her delicate features. "You are a *fool*!" she declared, and turned toward the door. "KORIN!"

The fairy almost instantly appeared, as though she had been waiting just outside. She scurried into the room, giving Angel a deep bow before approaching her Mistress with eyes averted.

"You called, my Lady?"

"I'm hungry," Darla snapped.

Korin began to lean toward her, but Angel leapt from his seat and grabbed the girl by the arm. The pale blue eyes flew up to his face, and the emptiness he saw in them burned him down to his soul.

"What do you think you're doing?" he barked at her.

She tilted her head and blinked, as though she didn't understand the question.

"What I was created to do," she replied, once again casting her gaze to the floor.

Angel started at her response and stepped away from her in shock. Of course, he knew what the He'airach's purpose was... the entire reason those of her race existed in this dimension... But it was so far out of the realm of his recent experience, the reality of what she was saying froze him solid.

It happened in slow motion, like a nightmare. And like a nightmare, he was helpless to move... to change events as they unfolded before him. He stared in horror as Darla changed... reached out and yanked the fairy toward her, pulling her roughly onto the bed by her hair. Korin closed her eyes, submissively tilting her head back to expose the pulsing artery at her throat. Darla snarled softly and struck like a viper, sinking her fangs unceremoniously into the pale flesh.

Angel found his will once more with the shot of erotic adrenaline that blazed through his bloodstream. He felt the urge to change come over him... felt himself grow hard instantly at the sight of his Sire feeding... clutching the girl tightly to her breast as she glutted on her blood. She made loud, hungry slurping noises that were overwhelmed only by Korin's orgasmic cries as her body convulsed in the vampire's embrace.

He stumbled backward as bile rose in his throat, and barely made it out the suite door before he fell to his knees and vomited violently on the hall carpet, the sound of the He'airach's climactic wailing still echoing in the air around him.

~~~~~

Angel pulled the necklace he wore over his hand and dangled the pendant before him. It was in the shape of an elaborately carved Celtic sword, marked with Ogham runes for protection and fealty... a gift from Buffy on what she had declared his birthday... May 1.

He honestly didn't care much for the concept -- his human birthday was a detail long vanished from his memory, and none of his various rebirths -- save, perhaps, for the one he'd experienced by meeting her -- were occasions that he really cared tto commemorate.

But the gesture itself was so genuine and heartfelt on her part... and the moment she had given it to him as they strolled along the Bay that had been his childhood home so sweet, he cherished the token as the precious gift that it was.

"The guy *freaked* when I said I needed it done in two days," she'd told him, "But... it's pretty cool how fast a fistful of American greenbacks can change somebody's mind about what's impossible and what's not."

She had slipped the long, silver chain over his head and smiled warmly as she told him she had blessed it with all of her love and power, so that he would be safe in those "rare, ten-second intervals when we're separated."

Like now, he thought, fingering the sword lovingly. Moments as brief and simple as waiting for her to come out of the bathroom from getting ready for bed sometimes felt like small eternities...

He stripped out of his shirt and slacks, depositing them in the hamper, and climbed into their king-sized four poster, tucking his arms behind his head and trying to relax and not think about Darla while he waited.

Buffy stepped out of the bathroom, skin scrubbed clean and glowing, brushing out her long hair. Her tiny body fairly swam in one of his undershirts, but the white cotton was so thin, he could clearly see the curve of her waist, the turn of her breasts and their deep rose nipples, through it.

Angel swore his dead heart gave a single, slow thump in response to the sight of her.

She smiled softly and set the brush down on the bureau, then slid under the covers and cuddled up beside him, pillowing her head on his bare chest.

"Spike still in one piece?" she asked, tracing circles over his skin.

"Yeah. But I had to take a few minutes to convince him not to duct tape Darla's mouth shut," he replied, gently running his fingers through her hair.

"Mm. Maybe you should rethink that strategy. She's not exactly making friends and influencing people."

There was no way to miss the sharp, bitter note in his beloved's voice. He wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her upward so they were face to face.

"Thank you for being so patient. I know this is hard for you," he murmured, tracing the outer edges of her cheek with a gentle fingertip.

"Not as hard as it is for you," she replied, reaching out through the link to make sure he knew that beyond all of her jealousy... and the continued urge to dust the miserable bitch and save them all a lot of pain...that she was proud of him. Of his strength and perseverance... his selfless dedication to helping her, when she made it more than clear that she wasn't interested in being helped.

But the moment she delved a little deeper than his surface, she hit a well of pain and shame that hadn't been there before... like a puddle of cold, black oil floating in his consciousness.

She frowned down at him from her perch on his chest. "What's wrong?"

Angel blinked in surprise. "What?"

Buffy shifted to look at him fully, pinning him with a searching gaze. "Something happened today. With Darla. Something bad." A thought suddenly occurred to her, and she abruptly sat up. "Did she hurt you?"

He hesitated for a moment. He had decided just to put the incident with Korin out of his mind, for now, until he had a chance to process what had happened, and how he felt about it, more fully for himself.

But the look in his lover's eyes, the feeling of her spirit's presence inside of him, and the promise he had made to her a few days before quickly changed his mind. He pulled himself upright, bracing his back against the headboard, and took a deep breath, meeting her gaze square on.

"She just... said some things that sort of spun my head. And..." he swallowed stiffly. "She, uh... she fed from Korin."

Buffy's eyes flew open wide. "She... WHAT? Right in *front* of you? What... what did you do? What did she say?"

The perfect picture of that moment brought back the sensations he had experienced with it... the nausea... and the arousal. And with those, still more guilt.

"I... didn't do anything. And she reminded me of what we are, with or without souls. And that... denying it doesn't change anything."

Buffy laid a gentle hand on his chest, and let his memory flow through her.

"God, Angel... that's... I'm so sorry," she said softly. "You're upset because you think she's right."

He nodded. "She is right. I'm still a vampire. And the way I felt... watching her feed... that's something I haven't had to face in a long time."

Buffy tucked her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees as she puzzled out his feelings. She couldn't imagine having to deal with something as complicated as Angel's search for self-definition. She had always had a hard enough time balancing her Buffy-Self and her Slayer-Self. And honestly, as time went by and she more fully embraced her place in the cosmic scheme of things, the more that line she had once been so adamant about drawing blurred. But with him... he was looking at polar opposites living inside of him. Reconciling them had to be a lot more difficult.

"It is hard," he confirmed, catching her thoughts, "At least... intellectually. It can't be impossible, because... well... I exist. I am that -- both demon and man. Just... understanding exactly what that means..." he shook his head sadly. "There are things about the two halves that just don't mesh."

"Like what happened today..." Buffy concluded for him.

"Exactly. I know that learning that balance is part of what I need to do... part of my journey. What we discovered when we were with Old Emma last year... that our shadow and light selves need one another to exist... I know all of that. I've been working on it since then, and I thought I had a good handle on it, too. But still..." He closed his eyes and sighed. "I was standing there, watching Darla attack this... helpless creature. And Korin... that's what she was bred for. That's all she knows. I was so torn between that erotic thrill and... the knowledge that it was wrong. Half of me wanted to join her, you know? And the other half was completely sickened and horrified. It was like being pulled in two directions at once."

Buffy looked at him closely. "But which half won out?"

A wry smile quirked the corner of his mouth. "I got sick all over the hall carpet."

She wrinkled up her nose. "Ew."

"Yeah, ew," he agreed. "But that's what I'm talking about. Those conflicting feelings are less of a battle, now, but... they're still a struggle. Before we were bound, I had to fight the demon *all* the time. But now... I'm not sure what it is, now. I just know that... being around Darla stirs up all of these... sensations... it's confusing and illuminating all at once. It makes me look a lot more closely at what I was versus what I am."

Buffy scooted closer, leaning up against the headboard beside him. "Hello existential crisis."

Angel sighed and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer and resting his head on top of hers. "I think my life is doomed to be one big existential crisis."

They sat peacefully for a while, lost in their thoughts, until Buffy spoke again.

"It turned you on. Seeing her feed, I mean."

"Yeah, it did," he admitted.

She pulled away and looked up at him seriously. "More than when you drink from me?"

He gazed deeply into her eyes for a moment, then let his gaze wander down to the base of her throat... the scar there that never really got a chance to fully heal. For a long time, that mark hand been one of shame and animal pride, to him... but mostly, shame. Now, though... now that thin, tough circle of skin had become a symbol of how far the two of them had come both individually and together... how very much a part of one another they were...

And ultimately, how much alike. Their darker selves were as tied to one another as their human essences were.

He reached up and softly traced the hard skin of the scar before looking into her face once more.

"No. There's nothing more erotic than that," he replied, his voice low and rough.

"Hmmm," she purred, moving still closer. "Then... I don't mean to diss your angst or anything but... it seems to me that you don't really need to sublimate your darker urges as much as you think. I mean... I can't answer whether the whole blood-slave thing is right or wrong... or... say anything constructive at all about Darla, really, but...." Reaching out, her hand trembled as she brushed the curve of his lips with a fingertip. He kissed it softly, and she slowly leaned in toward him, "I know there are a lot of things about your demon that I, personally, enjoy."

Angel swallowed stiffly, his superfluous habit of breath coming quick and shallow as she moved closer. "Really. Like... what, for example?"

"Mm. Like... your strength... your speed... your grace when you fight. When you take me, hard and fast." She punctuated her sensual murmuring with a soft brush of her mouth to his. "I like it when you dominate me." Another kiss, and her hand wandered down his bare chest to the waistline of his shorts, where she claimed his already bulging erection in a firm, gentle grip through the silk. "I love feeling like... we' re being bad... playing out all those fantasies we're not supposed to have about each other."

She stroked him as she spoke. Angel closed his eyes and sighed, letting his head fall back against the headboard. Buffy shifted so that she knelt more fully over him, and let her kisses travel down to the still vein at his throat. He shivered as she brushed her lips along its edge.

"I like it when you drink me," she breathed against his skin. "I love to feel your teeth in my neck, and feel the way that effects you. The way you growl... those little moans you make when my blood is rushing out of me, and into you." She nipped down hard on his jugular, eliciting a loud gasp from Angel as he thrust up into her hand. "You don't even have to touch me... just that is enough to make me come."

She backed away, and Angel opened his eyes to find her staring at him, pure lust turning hers to a flawless, deep emerald green.

"I love that when you're hungry... when that need hits you... I'm the only one who can satisfy it."

"Yes. You are," he replied breathlessly, and let the frustration of that afternoon surface once more.

He didn't need to let that hunger rule him... not when the sweetest nourishment of all was kneeling right beside him, offering herself not out of obligation, or force, but because she *wanted* it. She enjoyed it. Her appetite matched his own.

He could hear her heart thundering in her breast... her blood rushing through her... calling him...

Buffy moved away quickly, tugging off his boxers and her tee shirt, then returned her hand immediately to the long, smooth rhythm on his cock.

"You don't ever have to go hungry, Angel," she murmured, rising up to her knees. "Not as long as I live."

She gently swung one leg over to straddle his hips, and guided his raging erection to the outside of her already wet, throbbing sex. Angel sat back, letting her take control as she rubbed his head along her lips, closing her eyes and moaning deeply as she caressed herself. Her little fist continued stroking him achingly slow, and he could feel both their passions rising and crashing together. The pure, animal fire of it snapped the already agitated demon inside of him to life, and he let that shadowlust free as his features shifted.

Buffy stared down into his amber eyes, and a pulse of hot want rushed through her as she bent down to his mouth, running her tongue roughly over the jagged edges of his fangs. Tiny droplets of blood welled in the small wounds she opened for him, and she thrust her tongue between his lips, still caressing both him and herself as he began to suckle at her with a guttural moan. When the cuts closed, she withdrew, taking a firm hold of his cock, and poising it at her aching entrance, looking deeply into his wild gaze once more.

'Fill me, Angel... and let me fill you,' she whispered through the link, tilting her head back and tossing her long hair away from her neck.

Angel licked his lips involuntarily, unable to draw his gaze from the white ring of flesh at the base of her throbbing artery. He placed one hand on her hip, and with the other, took hold of the back of her head, drawing her closer.

Her breath and heartbeat quickened in response to his touch as he leaned in, drawing his tongue long and hard from the base of her shoulder, up behind her ear and down again, tickling a smooth circle around his mark. Buffy thrust her hips, pushing his hardness just another millimeter inside of her.

"Yes... Angel, yes," she gasped. "Please."

He clutched a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back further, pulling the big vein taught beneath his mouth. He drew his lips back, digging his fingertips into the soft flesh of her hip, and in one savage motion, plunged both his fangs and his cock deep inside of her.

Buffy exploded instantly at the dual invasion... the perfect pain and exquisite pleasure of it launching her over the edge of ecstasy. She grasped the back of his head desperately, forcing his teeth deeper, and slammed herself onto him as her orgasm roared through her.

Angel moaned into the torn, bloody flesh on which he fed, clutching her hip to drive himself deeper. The combined heat of her charmed blood and her freely flowing juices overwhelmed his senses, bringing him quickly to his own peak. He forced his face away from her neck, bringing the other hand down to her hip to guide her faster and harder onto him. Their gazes locked, both of them panting wildly, and Buffy braced her hands on his shoulders as she increased the pace still more, riding him hard and fast.

Her inner muscles pulsed around him, ripples of her climax ebbing, then rising higher with each deep, bruising thrust. He bent down to claim one rock-hard nipple between his teeth, slicing the over-sensitive skin just enough to draw blood from the spot, once again setting her off into whimpering piels of delight.

Angel sucked at her roughly, fucking her harder as his control finally snapped. Buffy arched away from him, throwing her head back and letting out a long, keening wail as she came once again. He quickly threw her down on her back, pounding viciously into her as her body milked him...her blood rushed through him, and the sounds and sensations of her pleasure rocked him to his very core.

He watched her face as she sailed on, until the world around him shattered into an all-consuming inferno as he joined her, slamming himself to the hilt with a final, feral roar of her name.

Spent, he gently eased his weight down, nestling his head into the crook of her neck, and tenderly laved at the torn flesh until it closed. Buffy wrapped her arms around him, languidly rocking their pelvises together, and softly stroked his hair.

"God, Buffy..." he panted, "God..."

"See?" she murmured, her voice already heavy with sleep, "You're not missing anything."

Angel rolled away and scooped her up in his arms, rolling them both to the pillow and tucking the bedspread around them in one smooth motion. He held her tightly to his chest as unconsciousness crept up on him as well. "No... I'm really not," he agreed.

In moments, the sated lovers were fast asleep, wrapped tightly in one another's arms.


	9. Mend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS: Angel whispers, "My beautiful love... you are always a balm to my soul..." (Actually, there *is* no word for "balm" in Irish Gaelic. So I used "medicine", instead. Ain't I clever in my complete misuse of the language? *g* ) *sigh*

"You alone have succeeded in combining the strength and devotion of man with the delicate tenderness of woman; the most luscious fruits of friendship with the most fragrant flowers of love." - Honore Gabriel Riquetti

Korin sat on her hands in the big leather office chair, and stared in wide-eyed terror at the thin, dark-haired human pacing furiously up and down the length of the small room. The tall woman with the brightly colored clothes watched and listened to her carefully, holding some sort of small device in her hand, which she continually pointed in Korin's direction. The brown man with the shiny head seemed to be trying to look right through her. The dark-haired Slayer -- William's mate -- sat behind the desk, reading some thin book filled with pictures, looking uninterested in what was happening, and sporting a fresh bandage at the side of her neck. How was it that William had fed from her, and yet she still lived?

There were so many baffling things about The Aurelius' inner circle... And far too many humans in this one tiny space for her comfort. She had never seen so many in one place before... or at least, not alive. The abattoir in the Vienna House had sometimes been lined wall to wall with bodies after one of the Prelate's parties, but it wasn't the same. Those corpses didn't smell like fear, anger and confusion, only rotting flesh. She was used to only meeting humans one at a time -- dignitaries visiting Frost, usually. Being in this enclosed area with so many of them, and every one but the Slayer focused squarely on her...

"Frost, you say," the one they called 'Wesley', repeated, "I'm not familiar with that name. Does he go by any others?"

Korin could do nothing but shrug. Their strange language was difficult enough to understand, let alone express herself in. But added to that their complicated questions, and their obvious anger toward she and her mistress, and the fairy could barely manage to open her mouth at all.

"I've heard of him," Spike cut in, "Never actually *seen* him, but... he's got a nasty rep. Cold. Calculated. All business. 'Course... his business and his pleasure seem to be pretty much the same thing."

Faith flashed him a look.

"Yeah, well... I'm different," he insisted upon catching her expression.

As hard as it was for Korin herself to believe, William was the only creature in the room that didn't frighten and confuse her half out of her skin. She knew just what to expect from a vampire. Especially her Mistress' GrandChilde -- so long as they were under Angelus' protection, he was harmless.

But these others... Humans were unpredictable. Wiley. Cruel. Cunning. That was why her kind had been brought from their dimension and bred for the Elders -- so they didn't have to depend on this dangerous race to survive.

Human beings were simply more trouble than they were worth.

She worried at her lower lip as the interrogation went on.

"Why Darla?" Wesley asked again, "Why not Vlad the Impaler, or Jack the Ripper or Ghengis Khan... or Hitler, for Heaven's sake? They were all said to be vicious vampires."

The fairy girl shrugged again. "There were... supposed to be others. But after what happened with My Lady... I do not know why Mistress was the first."

"It's got to be tied to Angel," Faith thought aloud, but didn't look up. "I mean... she was bad, but not even close to the baddest. What good would she do for these Sangini dorks?"

"Sanguinati," Wesley corrected her, resuming his pacing once more.

"Whatever."

"The Luciestat," Korin eeked.

The ex-Watcher stopped dead in his tracks and spun to look at her. "I beg your pardon? What did you just say?"

"She said, "The Lookie-stat"," Cordelia repeated helpfully.

Wesley's eyes widened, and his face lit up. "Are you talking about... the Vampire Bible? You mean there is such a thing?"

Korin nodded. "I have seen it. Hundreds of volumes. The Elders speak of little else, these years past. Before I came to my Mistress, I was of the Vasufus Order. There was a priest among them, who did nothing but study the books."

She paused as Wesley sunk down on the edge of the desk beside Spike.

"And..." he encouraged her.

Korin took a long drink of her water before she went on. "It is written... in the final days of the human pestilence, there will be a Great War between the vermin and the Armies of Night. A Great General will lead the victors. The priest was called to Court by Frost to interpret the signs his seers had been telling him of. It was soon after that we came here to the New World, and the search began for the Beldisian Annals -- the lost books that are said to have the power over life and death... and to rend the veil between the dimensions."

"So... what, this Frost dude figured he'd just start reconstituting vamps until they found this General?" Gunn quipped.

Wesley turned slowly to look at him.

"No. I believe that Darla was very deliberately chosen." He glanced briefly at Spike, then trained his gaze on Korin once more. "In light of the dreams Spike, Angel, Buffy and Faith shared last year... and the prophecies of a Master rising... it would appear to me that Frost and the Sanguinati believe that Angel is this prophesied leader."

"But... hey, hold on a minute," Cordelia cut in, sitting forward in her seat. "I thought Old Emma said Angel's soul is, like, super- glued in. And... he wouldn't lead the vamp army *with* his soul, so... what's the big?"

Spike gave the former beauty queen a withering glare. "The *big* is that the poufter's soul is only safe as long as the Slayer's is."

Cordy sat back with a frown. "Oh. Right."

"You think they're gonna try to ice Buff?" Faith exclaimed, showing her first real interest in the conversation, "They gotta know we're not gonna let that happen. *Especially* not Angel."

"No doubt. He'd die first," Gunn agreed.

Korin sniffled softly. "But what of my Mistress?"

All eyes turned to her.

"That, I believe, is the question," Wesley sighed.

~~~~~

Angel found Buffy tucked up on the railing of the balcony outside their bedroom, staring out over the sparkling Los Angeles night. They often came out here together before bedtime, to gaze over what seemed like an ocean of living stars at their feet.

Their city. Their home.

He leaned against the rail beside her and joined in her silent meditation.

Buffy finally looked up. "So, is she..."

Angel's gaze dropped to the street below. "She's resting. Willow's spell helped."

With a nod, she went back to observing.

"I'm sorry, Buffy," he said softly.

She didn't look at him. "It's okay."

Angel could hear the hurt in his lover's voice... feel her pain seeping through the edges of the wall he'd built against the link.

"No, it's not. I had no right to shout at you that way. You were only trying to help."

Buffy gave a little shrug, but made no further move to touch or look at him. "It's no big. Forget it."

For a moment, he closed his eyes, struggling to get his confused emotions under some semblance of control. There was so much going on inside of him... so many things that he didn't understand, yet. If it had been just a few years ago, he probably would have taken off by himself for a few days... gone to be alone somewhere dark and quiet to think things through.

Of course, if it was a few years ago, he never would have taken Darla in to begin with. He probably would have sent her packing back to the Sanguinati, where she belonged. But he didn't have responsibilities, then... to himself... to his family. He didn't have a duty... a purpose.

And he certainly didn't have his soulmate by his side.

Old Emma's wise words echoed through his mind -- that no matter what he and Buffy had to face, they had to do it together. When it was only their personal difficulties... their inner demons, and the more literal ones they faced every day, it was different. He had learned to depend on her in those situations. But he had always had such a difficult time allowing himself to lean on her... add even a small part of his burden to her already heavy one. And with something like this... the ugliest part of his past literally walking -- or being carried -- through their froont door, he found it almost impossible. No matter how well they knew one another... no matter how much Buffy loved him, and he her... this was something that she simply could not understand.

"Maybe you should give me a chance," she mumbled as she caught his unguarded thoughts, and turned to look at him at last. "No, I'm not a vampire. And no, I don't know what it's like to live with someone who's that deeply a part of me for a hundred and fifty years. But I know *you*. I *love* you. We are as close to being one person as it's possible to be. I want you to let me help. Let me be there for you. Not just when things are good and easy... but when they're hard, too. I thought that was the deal."

Her voice was soft... wounded and pleading, and the sound tore through Angel's heart like a jagged blade. He shifted over to where she sat, and stood between her legs so that they were eye to eye. There was so much turmoil going on behind the sweet, mossy green of hers, that for a moment, he was tempted to open the link and feel what she was feeling. To try and touch her soul enough to give her some measure of comfort or reassurance.

But that would mean opening himself to her, as well. And he didn't know if he was ready for that.

Angel rested his hands gently on her knees. "Buffy... I know that you want to help. And I *do* appreciate that... more than you know. But I don't want you involved in this. I don't want to see you get hurt by my past. Again."

A little frown marred her features. "It's a little late for that, don't you think? I know everything there is to know about you, the good and the bad. You're *inside* of me... *part* of me. Even when you block me, I can still *feel* you. It kills me that you sit down there, in pain, day after day, and you won't let me help you. You won't talk to me. I just don't understand *why*. Why can't you let me in?"

"Because, this is..." he looked away. "This is deeply private. And didn't we agree that we could keep our private thoughts to ourselves?"

In a flash of anger, Buffy shoved him away and jumped down off the balustrade to stand before him, arms akimbo.

"This is SO different! I was talking about stupid, everyday stuff! Like how I hate those ugly nylon cargo pants you always wear. Or how I think I'm getting fat, or whether I want a house with a white picket fence. *Private* does NOT cover rabid demons chained in my *basement*, putting my friends in gods know what danger, and driving my lover *insane*! I've seen the darkest parts of you, Angel -- demon and all. How can this be worse than anything else we've lived through together?"

Angel leaned back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. "Not worse. Just... different. Please. Try to understand."

"That's what I'm *trying* to do!" she shouted. "But you won't let me! Damn it, Angel!" Buffy forced herself to calm, taking a few deep breaths, and then approached him slowly. "We've been through so much together. I need you. I trust you with everything I have... everything I am. After what we learned at Sierra Ridge, why can't you do the same?"

He raised his gaze to hers, and was once again taken aback by the ferocity of her devotion. Her fearlessness. The depth of love sparkling in her eyes.

"Of course I trust you. And I do need you. More than..." he took a deep breath, "Even more than I can tell you. Maybe more than I should."

Buffy took the last step separating them, and rested her hands gently on his chest, looking deeply into his dark eyes. That position sent her falling naturally into the outer edges of their bond, and she willed her feelings into him without pushing. She didn't want to force him to share. She just wanted to be sure that he knew--*really* knew--that he could.

"Then talk to me, Angel. I know how much this is hurting you. And that hurts me. It hurts when you shut me out of something this important."

Angel continued gazing down at her, gradually easing back, bit by bit, on the block. As he did, he felt what she was saying wash through him... a wave of warm certainty where for these last days without her, there had been only a shivering, cold confusion. And he was reminded of what she really was to him -- his foundation. His roots into the world. The very wellspring of his life. By denying her, even to protect her, he was denying himself the very thing that gave him strength of purpose -- loving her. Sharing with her. Being connected by their bound souls to the essential thing that his kind most lacked.

Love. Humanity.

He swallowed stiffly. There was no avoiding it. No matter how much he wanted to shield her from pain, she -- and their wise Gypsy friend -- were right. What one of them faced, the other inevitably did, as well. And when last they had tried to fight that oneness, it had almost killed them both.

Angel took her hand and led her back into the bedroom, encouraging her to sit on the bed as he began to pace, trying to articulate aloud what he had been brooding over alone, in silence. At the same time, he let down the barrier he had erected around his thoughts so that she could feel what he might not be able to explain.

"I don't have to tell you what I was... the things I did. You understand that better than anyone. But... seeing Darla again..." he shook his head. "She was... everything to me in those years we were together. More than just my Sire. She was the center of all that I was... my mate, my mentor, my companion. She taught me everything I knew. I was completely devoted to her... and she to me. So much so that... when I got my soul back, and I was completely lost... I went back to her. I wanted..." He stopped pacing and looked out the window, remembering that night in Romania with the same dull pain it always brought. "I guess I wanted her to make it better. Stand by me the way she always did for 150 years. But she... " He sighed sadly. "She put me out, instead."

Buffy gasped.

'How could she...'

'She didn't have a *soul*, Buffy.'

He went on. "So I wandered. From one end of the Earth to the other. I had no idea what to do. Where to go where the ghosts wouldn't haunt me. After a few years, I tried again. I found her in China and begged her to take me back. I thought I could... just put my soul aside and be what I was again. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't murder innocents in cold blood, when the ones I had already slaughtered screamed in my head, day and night. So I left. And that time... I was adrift for..." He raised his gaze to meet hers, and almost smiled. "Nearly a hundred years. Until someone reached out to me. Someone touched me, and showed me that the pain wasn't all that there was, no matter what I had done. That I could more than survive. I could thrive. Flourish. I could use the guilt and the horror like... a well of energy. The power to make amends. To make a difference. To be good. And most of all, that... I could be forgiven. Loved."

Angel wandered over and sat beside Buffy on the bed. "I was so angry... and weak... and crippled by the pain, for nearly a century. Alone. I had nothing but regret and nightmares to keep me company. It took you to change that."

Buffy reached out and took both his hands in hers.

"That pain, Buffy... it's unimaginable. The darkness... the hopelessness... the utter isolation of it. Every day was like an eternity in Hell. And that's not an exaggeration."

They were both silent for a few moments, listening to the sounds of the night outside, before he finally spoke again.

"Seeing her again... having her come back, after I thought she was gone, and knowing that she might have a soul? That's..." he chuckled bitterly, "Confusing doesn't even begin to cover it. But... I wouldn't wish what I went through on anyone. Not even her. If it's within my power to help, then I have to do it. I'm the only one who can. Maybe... if I stand by her, she won't have to suffer for a hundred years to find her way," he concluded, "Whatever I might feel about Darla personally... I can't let her go through what I did alone."

Buffy was overwhelmed by the feelings rushing between them. She brought one of his big hands to her lips, and brushed a long, soft kiss to his knuckles before looking up into his eyes once more.

It never ceased to surprise her how truly *good* the man she loved was.

"I know," she whispered, caressing his cheek with her other hand. "That's part of what makes you so special. Not only that you survived what you did and became who you are, but... that you're willing to forgive Darla enough to help her."

Angel shook his head. "This isn't about forgiveness. Someone else can't give that to you. You have to give it to yourself. It's just that... if she has a soul, then it's my duty to reach out to her. Who needs it more than the creature that was by my side through the worst of my crimes? When she woke up... for a minute, she was Darla. Exactly the way I remembered her -- nasty. Offensive. Condescending. But... then she broke down, and I remembered how that moment felt. All those horrible feelings tearing through me. The realization that..." his voice choked, "That I had... murdered... my family. My friends. Thousands upon thousands of people. All that blood on my hands..."

He finally broke down at that, and Buffy took him in her arms as he cried against her breast, his sobs wracking both of their bodies. She petted his hair gently and whispered reassurances in his ear until he finally managed to pull himself together and sit up once more.

Buffy gave him a gentle smile as she wiped the tears from his cheeks.

"I love you, Buffy," he whispered, "Please... try to be patient with me while I work all of this out. That's all I ask. And I promise... I'll try not to shut you out while I do."

Her smile grew a little, but it still barely expressed even a fraction of what she was feeling. How much she loved this man... admired him... wanted him... liked him. More, it seemed, every day.

"That's all I ask of *you*," she replied.

They looked deeply into one another's eyes, finally fully open to each other for the first time since their happy bubble had been shattered a few nights before. Their hearts and souls spoke freely, sharing their fears... their pain and their hope. And most of all, their love for one another.

Buffy reached out and touched his face slowly... gently... knowing how her caresses helped to comfort him, especially when the link was open. And just as it had always been, between them, the contact between her skin and his sent a tiny bolt of lightning straight to her heart.

He was usually so strong... of the two of them, she would always count him as the braver. Angel was the protector of so many... of anyone and everyone who reached out to him in need. And sometimes, she wondered how he could carry all of that, and his own pain besides. With his beautiful head held high, and his heart still so full of love.

She wondered, and not for the first time, how she'd ever gotten so lucky that this incredible man loved her. And when he hurt like this... when his pain was sharp and he faltered in its wake, Buffy was more than honored to be the one to support him through it.

She leaned forward and brushed her lips to his, the tiny fire of their initial contact quickly spreading until it burned through every inch of her body. She was still surprised, sometimes, at what simply kissing him awakened in her. How lust and love melted together into one overpowering passion. Times like these, she *wanted* him. No... more than just wanted... or *needed*, even. This desire always exploded into something she had never been able to find words for.

Sex had never been just sex, between them... the succor of their skins coming together as much as their essences always did... of sharing this tie on the physical plane, as well as the spiritual. It was like coming home. Being made whole. Being healed.

She tangled her hands in his soft, thick hair as the kiss deepened, and she felt his sigh in her heart. Their tongues met and caressed one another, gently sucking... licking... flickering together. Angel's response was almost desperate. He pulled her closer, held her more fiercely, clutched her tightly in his embrace as his lips burned away from hers and he took tiny, tender, trembling mouthfuls of her skin across her jaw, to the delicate shell of her ears, where his cool breath against the fine hairs made her shiver as he whispered,

"Mo gra alainn...is sibhse cogas don mo anim i dtolamh..."

As he laved tenderly downward over the curve of her throat, his hands took their own journey, smoothing from where they had been wound in her long hair, down to her waist, and finally slipping beneath her shirt.

Buffy mewled softly as his hands brushed against her bare skin, pushing her shirt up and over her head in their wake. His mouth left her shoulder for only a moment... only long enough to toss the garment away, and allow her to do the same to him... before he dove back to her once more.

Angel wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to get completely lost in these familiar sensations... in the gentle solace of her mouth and hands everywhere on him. He found it a fitting irony that the act which had once been the source of such pain between them could now be the surest way to heal one another of the wounds inflicted by their duties... the constant struggle of their complicated lives. Each new place where they touched each other, inside and out, was cauterized and mended, as if by magick.

Which, considering that she was the Goddess herself to him, was also fitting.

How he loved this feeling... reality slipping away in an ever rising tide of bliss as they fell to their sides on the bed. He couldn't seem to reach enough of her body fast enough, making him wish that he had more hands, more lips, so that he needn't move away from suckling at her breasts, teasing her nipples to hard peaks with butterfly flickers of his tongue, in order to move on to kiss the gentle slope of her waistline, down around the feminine curve of her belly and into the gentle hollow of her hipbones. He wanted his hands in her hair... on her flushed face... on her back, her rear, her thighs, all at once. There was just too much delight to experience, and not enough of him to taste and touch it all.

But Buffy wasn't going to let him do all the venerating, this time. Like everything else in their lives, he was always the giver... always the one to see to her pleasure before ever thinking of his own. But now he was the one who needed soothing, and she so desperately wanted to soothe him. She gently pushed him over on to his back and rose to her knees, looking down in lust and awe and wonder and love that never seemed to fade at the sight of his beauty.

She only hesitated to drink in the breathtaking sight for a moment before swinging a leg over to straddle his hips. Angel arched his neck and gasped at the sensation of her heat -- even as dampened as it was by their clothes separating them -- pressed against his hardness. His hands automatically shot to her hips, gripping them fiercely and urging her closer.

Buffy leaned forward, bending over him so that her hair curtained their heads, and kissed him again. Her fingertips lightly tickled down his sides, and she flickered her tongue around his lips, then circled the cut of his chin. She nibbled and kissed his throat, pausing to lave at his Adam's Apple, and the long, firm line of his jugular, forcing a deep, rumbling moan from his chest.

She followed the echo of that sound with her tongue, caressing down the center of his chest as her hands darted inward to undo his pants.

Angel's unnecessary breath quickened, and he thrust upward, grinding himself into her as she slipped her hands into his slacks, smoothing around his waist, until she reached all the way beneath him to cup the hard globes of his rear end. Giving the muscles a firm squeeze, she met his thrust upward with a slow turn of her hips.

Another groan from him, and Buffy could feel the thrill of it growing inside of him, forcing his confusion, pain, and exhaustion away.

//Always nice to know I'm doing my job.//

Buffy slid down the length of his long body, pulling his pants and shorts off as she did. When she tugged them off his feet and tossed them away, she smiled to find him watching her. She quickly got up from the bed, but slowly, tantalizingly, never letting her gaze leave his, removed her own pants.

When she was as naked as he, Buffy crawled back onto the bed, bracing herself on hands and knees between his legs, and tossed her hair over her head, using it to brush a tickling trail down his torso that made him quiver even harder than before.

She reached her destination... the wiry, dark curls surrounding his proud erection... and found that just thinking about him being inside her... between her lips or between her legs... made her body throb with wanting it.

Ducking down, she licked a line from the root of his cock to the tip. Did it again down one side, then up the other, bringing one hand up to grip him gently, giving languid digital strokes to compliment the lingering tongue kisses. His body was tense beneath her touch, tiny whimpers of pleasure erupting from his lips as he caressed her cheek in encouragement.

When Buffy had completed one slow journey around his girth, finally reaching the fairly bulging head once more, she swiftly sucked him between her lips, pulsing the muscles of her cheeks around the sensitive top, even as she flickered her tongue over and licked the gathering dew away.

Then she slid him, hard and fast, into the back of her throat.

"Oh... CHRIST!" he yelped, thrusting upward into her face as his fingers tangled in her hair. "God... Buffy... yes. That's... oh... God... so good."

"Mmmmm..." she hummed, and felt him jerk in her mouth at the vibration from her voice.

Taking a steady pace -- hard and slow, the way he liked it -- she sucked him, reveling in all the little sounds he made... whimpers and moans... soft grunts in time to her thorough attentions. His hands clutched convulsively against her scalp, and his pelvis continued rocking upward to meet her rhythm as she drew him in and out of her mouth. Taking him deep, swallowing around him, then slipping him out, dragging her tongue over the pulsing vein on the underside, all the while allowing her hands to wander... cupping his sac, caressing his hips, thighs and ass with gentle fingertip brushes.

The hot wetness of her lips and tongue sent him careening into blissful shock, searing him... the healing, cleansing fire burning away all of his cares. He opened his eyes to watch her, once more enthralled by her graceful, ardent motions... at the pleasure she seemed to get from tending to him like this... overwhelmed by the erotic sight of disappearing into her strong, talented mouth. He gritted his teeth, fighting the imminent explosion that threatened to end this moment of perfect bliss. He wanted this... the rapture of it... the physical storm building in his body, and the feeling of her desire in his soul... to be his only reality, forever.

Angel reached down, tucking a hand beneath her chin to get her attention, the imperative rushing from him into her, and he saw the acknowledgement of what he wanted -- what they both wanted -- light her eyes.

Buffy released him carefully from her mouth, giving him one last, gentle stroke with her hand before she ascended his form, pressing her body tightly against his as she moved back to claim his lips.

He hissed as she climbed upward, her molten sex soaking his already aching cock, and dove into her mouth. She slowly rose above him, and he settled his hands on her hips once more as she opened herself wide, slipping him inside.

Buffy yelped his name against his lips as he filled her utterly... the link snapping wide open as their bodies came together. Rising up, bracing her weight on her hands against his chest, she drew him almost all the way out of her tight center once more, and then slid down hard, their pelvises coming together with a soft, wet smack.

She dug her nails into his chest as she rode him, using all of her preternaturally strong muscles, both inside and out, to move against him... clutch at him... take him deep inside of her body. As her pace grew more frantic, the clear stream of her emotions through the link began to jam into a raging red river washing over them both, and Angel knew he wouldn't be able to hold back much longer. He reached between their joined bodies, dipping a finger into her swollen lips to caress her throbbing clit.

Buffy cried out once more as she came, her channel clamping down fiercely around him, shuddering in the throes of her orgasm. She bucked wildly above him, throwing her head back and letting out a long, keening wail that rattled the windows.

That erotic, animal sound shattered the very last of Angel's control, and he answered her with a bellow of his own, digging his fingertips into the flesh of her hips hard enough to bruise as he exploded inside of her.

When their climax faded, Buffy folded at the waist, collapsing against his damp chest, and peppered his face with soft kisses as she continued to rock gently against him.

Angel shivered at the stimulation of his oversensitive nerves, and claimed her face in his hands, looking deeply into her eyes.

"I love you," he said firmly, "Nothing, and no one, can ever, *ever* change that, do you understand? And I promise... I'll try not to push you away again."

Buffy brushed a tiny kiss to his lips, giving another sensual twist of her hips. "Fair enough. And I promise to try not to chop her head off with a butterknife. Or yours, either."

He caught the faintly bitter tone of her joke, and gave her a wry smile. "You're sexy when you're catty."

She squinted at him in mock menace. "I thought you said jealousy doesn't 'suit' me."

Angel let his gaze roam lovingly over her angelic features, coming to rest at last on her lips. "I lied. Everything looks good on you."

Buffy accepted his unspoken invitation to kiss, melding their mouths together for a long, sweet time before she pulled away once more with a lusty grin.

"What's say I do my best to make sure you don't forget that?" she purred, rising up on her knees a little to increase the friction between them once more.

He closed his eyes as he felt himself already hardening within her. "I think... that sounds like a very good idea," he groaned.


	10. Sides

The days crawled by... a week, then two, and still Darla retained her snide, condescending attitude toward everyone that came to keep watch over her. Toward the middle of the second week, most of them stopped sitting inside the room at all, choosing to stay in the hallway rather than have to listen to her unending vitriol. Only Angel actually spent significant time inside her rooms.

He continued to sit with her for hours on end, although he had once again turned his attentions to regular daily business. The vampire population of Los Angeles continued to climb, as did the numbers of other demons -- both dark and light -- moving into thhe city. Much of his nights were taken up with patrolling or keeping his ear to the ground at Caritas, where sooner or later, most of the newcomers made an appearance to try and determine their fortunes.

But no matter how many creatures he, Buffy, Faith, Spike and Doyle spoke to, bribed, or beat up, none of the city's newest citizens had a word to say about Frost or the Sanguinati.

The rest of the team meanwhile, both there and in Sunnydale, were in perpetual research mode, studying the varied materials they had in their possession. They consulted almost daily with Old Emma and her people's Lore Keepers and the Watchers' Council, scrambling to put together some sort of cohesive picture from all of these disparate bits and pieces. So far, nothing had come of their efforts.

Their other supernatural avenues of information weren't yielding anything, either. The Host read all of them (excepting Spike), and found nothing new in their auras but Darla herself, and a vague shadow of trouble looming -- nothing they weren't already well aware of. The Oracles gave Angel, Faith, and Buffy nearly identical cryptic puzzles -- 'things are changing, as things always change. It is your duty to watch how they do, and to understand.'

Angel had a great deal of patience, but it was quickly beginning to wear thin. Darla' s continued abusiveness in the face of his attempts to get her to talk were starting to get on his nerves as well, leaving him as testy and short-tempered as he ever remembered being. He made a special attempt not to take it out on Buffy... after their two wonderful nights of bonding, he wanted to make sure he kept his promise to her... but sometimes, he just remained quiet for fear of letting his exhaustion get the best of him.

The first big Darla breakthrough came more than three weeks after her arrival, when she spoke her first civil words to him.

"So tell me, Angelus... does your hero's credo allow you to play chess with evil demons?"

Their time together now was filled with the same tense silence, but broken occasionally by the soft click of chess pieces.

He watched his Sire carefully as they played, without letting her know that he was watching. He tried to listen closely to the signals in his blood... tried to read what she was feeling or thinking from those signals... from her face or her motions, but Darla remained tightly collected, her fair features masked with haughty neutrality.

It seemed as though lately, nothing in his life was yielding any fruit. He remembered something Buffy once said, a long time ago... "No fruit for Buffy," and his reply... that their struggles were worth it, even if the rewards weren't immediately apparent. He held on to that knowledge. Eventually, Darla would need to reach out... there was no way she could avoid it.

"Checkmate," he declared wearily. It was long past dawn, and he hadn't had a good night's sleep in several days. He and Buffy had spent the previous night wiping out a nest of Kjradik demons -- a species rumored to be used as hired muscle by the Sanguinati in other parts of the world. These, however, had proved to be barely verbal, and certainly not civilized enough to work for such a sophisticated organization.

Point being, he was worn out. But Darla had stopped him as he came by to check on her on his way to bed, and challenged him to a game. He hoped against hope that the request was her manner of reaching out, and had accepted against his body's... and Buffy's... protests.

Four hours later, he was ready to collapse where he sat.

"Damn it!" she snapped, shooting him a hard look. "I don't recall you being quite so skilled, Angelus. In fact, I seem to remember you cursing violently and throwing things a great deal when I was teaching you how to play."

He gazed at her evenly. "That was two hundred years ago. A lot of things have changed since then."

Darla frowned slightly. "Yes. I suppose they have." She rose form her chair and wandered over to the shaded window, fingering the heavy curtains that blocked out the day before turning to look at him once more. "May I ask you something?"

It was all Angel could do not to shout with relief. "Of course," he replied calmly.

"Do you have... nightmares?"

He slowly began gathering the chess pieces and placing them back in their box.

"Yes," he replied softly, taking his time, carefully considering his words so as not to discourage her, "They've been less frequent in the past few years. But I still have them."

She said nothing in response, but walked back to the bed and stared silently down at the deep blue comforter, as though she might find some answers there.

"Do you?" Angel asked.

Darla raised her gaze to him once more. "I don't know. I never remember my dreams."

"Then why do you ask?" He closed the box with a soft click.

She sat down and delicately crossed her legs, leaning toward him. "Boredom, I suppose. Curiosity. You've been tortured by your soul. It changed everything about you. Now I'm supposed to have one, according to your theory, and yet... I don't feel different at all."

He considered her closely. "So you keep saying."

She arched a fine eyebrow at him. "And you still don't believe me?"

"No."

"Why is that?"

Looking deeply into the still-familiar crystal blue of her eyes, he said gently, "Because I was there when you woke up. I saw it hit you. Maybe you don't believe you're different. But I can feel that you are."

Darla held his gaze, frowning darkly, but said nothing. Finally, after a long, tense moment, she got up and turned her back to him. "I'd like to take my rest now."

Angel hesitated for a moment, but nodded and got up to leave. "Okay." He paused in the doorway and glanced back at her over his shoulder. Darla was already in bed, lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling. "Sleep well, Darla."

He shut the suite door behind him with a sigh.

The exchange wasn't much, but it was a start.

~~~~~

Buffy watched him from her hiding place down the hall, careful to keep the link tightly shut and not move or breathe at all. Angel thought that she had gone out on patrol with Gunn, and it was no easy task to sneak back into the hotel without alerting her lover -- who was armed with both sharp predator's sense, and a direct psychic link to her -- that she had returned.

Enough was enough. She had been watching her lover agonize for weeks, now, still tortured by his conflicted feelings about the presence of his Sire, and wracked with guilt over being unable to reach her. Buffy could sense that he was feeling a little better just now, but not better enough to make *her* feel better. And despite their agreement to stand together through this... even though they were spending so much time hunting together... and talking... Angel was still distant. Still hurting.

Darla was playing games with her mate's heart -- maybe with all of their lives, as well -- and she fully intended to put a stop to it. Now.

When the elevator doors closed behind Angel, Buffy popped out of the doorway and hurried down the hall to Darla's door. Without knocking, she marched into the darkness and stood over the still form on the bed.

"Wake up!" she barked.

The vampire stirred and rolled over, giving Buffy an unpleasant, chilly smile. "And a fine morning to you, Slayer," she drawled, pulling herself upright and turning on the bedside lamp. After all, it wouldn't be much of a confrontation if her young rival couldn't see. "Is there something you wanted, or did you just wake me to be rude?"

Buffy stood firm, glaring down at her. "I want to know what your game is, Darla. What do you want from Angel?"

The vampire's smile vanished. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yes."

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and pulled on her sheer robe as she got up. "What I *want* is to be set free. I *want* not to be held prisoner in this ship of fools. I *want* that *thing* wearing *my* mate's face to leave me alone."

In a flash of rage, Buffy hauled off and slapped her. "That THING is MY mate!" the Slayer spat, "Angel is *killing* himself trying to *help* you, because he somehow has the idea that you *deserve* it. But do you want to know what *I* think?"

Darla raised a killing gaze on her opponent. "Please. I do so love a good *joke*."

Buffy took a step closer so that the two of them were toe to toe and eye to eye. "I think all you deserve is a pointy stick in your chest. And maybe a Ziploc bag, so your *dust* won't mess up my *carpet*."

The elder blonde laughed and shoved her away. "You're Buffy, Legendary Slayer of vampires! You've tamed half my bloodline! So what are you waiting for?" She barked, grabbing the chain that bound her ankle to the ceiling and rattling it at her. "I'm practically HELPLESS! And I assure you, as I've told your pathetic lapdog time and time again, I WILL take the first opportunity to destroy YOU!"

Now it was Buffy's turn to laugh. "I would have thought four hundred years as an evil harpy would have made you a little more creative -- that line's getting *old*. But, you know? I don't doubt for a *second* that you have *something* up your sleeve. So why don't we just lay our cards on the table and solve this the old fashioned way?"

With that, the Slayer yanked the key to the manacles from her pocket and a stake from the waistband of her jeans, brandishing both in Darla's face.

The demon rolled her eyes. "Please. Do you think for one moment that you frighten me, little girl? Do you truly expect me to believe that you would spit in the face of your precious Angel's *express* wishes? He would hate you forever."

"Maybe," Buffy growled, "But at least he'd finally be free of you, once and for all. And when the last of you is blowin' in the wind, I'm gonna hunt down your little friend Frosty the Vampman, and I'm going to give him the same. THEN I'm going to take out your whole council, burn their headquarters to the ground, books and all, and make sure you STAY dead this time!"

"How very droll. But... there's only one small flaw in your logic, precious," Darla replied calmly, "You would most certainly die in the process. And then where would that leave your little bond with Angleus, hm? Oops! There goes that pesky soul! Then he will take his rightful place in Court, and rule the world long after your skinny little body is nothing but *dust*."

A flash of rage washed through Buffy, and she advanced on the vampire. "You really believe that, don't you? You think all you have to do is get me out of the way, and it's open season on Angel's soul?" She let the hand holding the stake drop. "You're pathetic. I've got a newsflash for you, sister. You can kill me... but you still don't have what it takes to get his soul."

Darla sneered at her. "Oh really. And what is that, exactly?"

The Slayer leaned in and gave her own Big Bitch smile. "You'd have to make him happy. And nobody can do that but me. Kind of a fun Catch-22, don't you think?"

The vampire scowled darkly and sat back down on the bed. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I can't make him happy. But do you really think that you *can*? I know why you *really* want me dead, little girl. You can't stand looking at a living reminder of an entire part of your lover that you can never *touch*. Half of him that can *never* be yours. That half always has, and always will, belong to me, no matter how many times you let him drink you. You're just food to that part of him, Slayer. That will never change."

Buffy shook her head, tucking the stake back into her jeans. "You have *no* idea what you're talking about. You know what? This is a waste of time. You're going to believe what you want to believe. But I promise you... I know the demon just as well as you do. I'm bound to it just as much as I am Angel's soul. So you can push and push as much as you want... he's *never* going to want you. We can keep playing these games forever, and you're *never* going to win." She took a step closer to the older woman and pointed a finger in her face. "I'm not going to dust you. But let me tell you this. I'm going to find out what you're up to. And if you so much as make a *move* to hurt Angel any more than you already have, I *will* kill you. Are we clear?"

Before Darla had a chance to respond, Angel came tearing into the room. He stood in the doorway for a moment, looking frantically back and forth between the two women. Seeing that they were both still in once piece, he collected himself and stood straight with his arms crossed over his chest.

"What's going on in here?"

"Your little bimbo came down here to kill me," Darla informed him.

Buffy stood back with her hands on her hips. "I was just trying to get your delightful ex to spill about her little scheme."

Angel gave her a confused look. "Scheme?"

"Yeah, scheme! You know, her *plan*? Whatever her and this Prelude guy are trying to pull on us. You know as well as I do that the Council brought her back for a reason!" She turned her glare back to Darla. "And I'm thinking it's not for her *charm*."

Darla shot her a smirk.

"Prelate," Angel interjected gently.

Buffy spun back to him. "WHAT?"

"Prelate. Frost is the Prelate of the Sanguinati. You said prelude."

His lover continued to look at him in utter disbelief.

"My, Angelus, you certainly have interesting taste in mates... naive, stupid, *and* flat," Darla sniped.

"You shut up or I'll reconsider letting you stay solid!" the Slayer barked at her.

Angel stepped between them. "Okay, that's enough. Buffy, Darla doesn't know any more about why they brought her back than we do."

"What are you *talking* about?" Buffy yelped.

"Excuse me, Angelus... how do you know that I'm not *squarely* at the center of Frost's plans?" Darla complained.

Angel turned a gentle gaze on his Sire. "Because you've been insensible since they resurrected you. I doubt that you were involved with a great many strategy meetings in that condition."

"You've got to be KIDDING ME!" Buffy screeched, "Look at her! She wants to kill us all! And you think she's not in on it?"

He looked at Buffy once more. "She doesn't want to kill anyone. She's just confused and scared."

"She doesn't look confused and scared to me!"

"I believe I can speak for myself, *Childe*," Darla hissed, "And there is not a *one* of you that frightens me."

"Didn't I just tell you to SHUT UP?!"

Angel rubbed his hands over his face and sighed in frustration. "This is ridiculous. Buffy, give me the key."

The Slayer gaped at him in horror. Darla herself looked on in open-mouthed shock.

"WHAT?" Buffy barked, "Are you NUTS?"

Angel turned to face his lover fully, putting his hands on her arms and backing her away from where Darla sat. "She's not our prisoner, Buffy. If she wants to go so badly, we should let her."

For a moment, Buffy kept staring at him. "You *can't* be serious! You're going to let her GO? Why don't I just go grab her a sword and a map with everyone's houses marked on it, so she can sneak around tonight and kill us all in our sleep?"

He looked deeply into her eyes. "Do you trust me?"

She scowled. "That's not fair."

"Do you?"

Buffy cast a glance over his shoulder at the angry vampire who sat, still looking flustered by her sudden change in fortune, and switched to freaking out on him across the link.

'This is some kind of reverse psychology thing or something, right? You're not really going to set her free?!'

'Yes, I am. If I want her to trust me... reach out... then I have to let her come to that decision on her own. We're never going to get anywhere by using force.'

'Where, exactly, do you think we're going to get with her?'

Angel didn't reply. Buffy could feel the fact that he didn't have an answer... or at least, not one he was willing to share. But above all that, she could feel his stubborn determination. Even if he didn't know what he was trying to do... he was still going to try to do it.

"Fine," she snapped, reaching into her pocket and yanking out the key. "This is really stupid, you know that, right? At the very least, she's just going to run back to Frost and tell him exactly how to get to us."

Angel took the key and approached Darla, who watched him warily. He looked straight into her eyes. "Maybe. But I don't think so," he replied.

For a moment, he and his Sire held one another's gaze. Darla's blue eyes were still filled with anger and shock, and yet... he was certain he saw something else growing there, too. Something softer. He wouldn't go so far as to call it gratitude... but it was something close to it.

He bent to her feet and unlocked the ankle chain, then got up and moved to the center of the room, unhooking the mechanism attached to the ceiling before turning to look at her once more.

Darla remained exactly where she was, her expression now carefully neutral once more, and watched as Angel gathered up the pile of chains and walked over to Buffy.

"Goodnight, Darla. Let me know if you need anything," he said, and left the room.

Vampiress and Slayer both stared silently after him for several minutes, reeling from what had just happened. Buffy was acutely aware of the hard edge of the stake poking into the small of her back, and the growing urge to use it. She was even more sensitive to Darla's every tiny movement behind her. Finally, she turned to look at her lover's Sire, her face set with grim determination.

"Just remember what I said. And just so you know? If you so much as *look* at Angel funny, you are *dust*. I don't care what he says." She held the cold blue gaze of her rival for another moment, then spun and followed the way Angel had gone.

Darla sat, rubbing her sore ankle, and considered her options.

~~~~~

Angel was furiously pacing the sitting room when Buffy returned to their suite. As soon as she shut the door behind her, he advanced, his face marked with rage.

"What do you think you were doing?" he snapped, "I was starting to get through to her! Are you *trying* to undo everything I've managed to accomplish?"

For a heartbeat, Buffy was shocked silent by his angry tone. But the sensation was quickly overtaken by her own anger. "I was *trying* to *protect* you! God, Angel!" she shouted back, "This is getting out of *hand*! She doesn't *want* your help!"

"She's just starting to open up, and you had to go down there and threaten her! Is this how you support me?" he barked.

"SUPPORT YOU? You're out of your MIND!" Buffy finally exploded, "She's EVIL! You can sit down there and be all calm, collected Buddha guy until the WORLD ENDS -- you CAN'T CHANGE THAT!"

Angel turned away from her, struggling to get control of his temper. His forced his voice to calm before looking at her once more, but couldn't hide the faint tremor that remained as he spoke. "You need to let me handle this, Buffy. If we drive her away, she'll be twice as dangerous."

Buffy didn't bother trying to control her anger. "If you didn't *unchain* her, she wouldn't be dangerous at all! What are you *thinking*?"

"What do you expect me to do, keep her locked up in that room forever?"

"NO! I expect you to KILL HER!"

A heavy silence fell over the room as they stared one another down.

"That's not going to happen," he finally declared. "I don't understand where this change of attitude is suddenly coming from. You shouldn't have to ask what I'm thinking, Buffy... you can just look inside and see for yourself."

Buffy frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "I can't see *anything*. It's like a jungle in there. And *that's* what scares me. You don't even know what you're thinking... or feeling. You're just stumbling along blindly, hoping that everything will work out for the best if you just want it badly enough."

Angel stared at her, taken aback that she could so clearly label the confusion he was feeling. That reminder of their bond calmed him, but in no way dampened his certainty that he was doing the right thing. He stepped closer to his lover, but didn't try to touch her.

"Please, Buffy. You said that you trust me. Let me handle this my way, okay? I would never let anything happen to you. I swear, if I think Darla's becoming a threat, I'll take care of it."

She looked deeply into his eyes. "Will you? I don't think you'd be able to see her as a threat if she snuck into our bedroom in the middle of the night with a stake in her hand!"

He frowned. "That's not fair. Yes, I am confused. But I'm perfectly lucid when it comes to your safety."

"SCREW MY SAFETY, ANGEL! I'm the Slayer! I can take care of myself! But what about *you*? She's got you wrapped around her little finger! She could probably tell you to close your eyes, and in the 'interest of building trust', you'd just do it!" She grabbed his arms roughly and gave him a shake. "Don't you see what she's doing??? She's tearing us apart! We can't keep her here, and we can't let her go!"

Angel brushed her off and turned away. "You're not destroying Darla. Not as long as I have anything at all to say about it. She has a soul. She deserves a second chance. If you can't see that..."

Buffy could hardly find the will to respond. "What, Angel? What are you going to do? Fight me? Kill *me* to protect *her*? I guess that would be a pretty funny irony, wouldn't it?" she whispered to his back.

He said nothing. Instead, he walked out of the suite, leaving Buffy staring after him in broken-hearted disbelief as he slammed the door behind him.


	11. But Which One's the Hard Place?

Angel's decision was no more popular with the rest of his family than it had been with Buffy. Their meeting the next afternoon was fraught with tension... and none of it the quiet kind.

Darla hadn't yet made an appearance, but he knew she was still there... he'd caught her scent several times as he passed by her room. Honestly, he had to admit being a little bit surprised that she hadn't bolted.

But right now, he was more concerned with the chaos his announcement was causing among their ranks than Darla's apparent decision to stay. The reactions ranged from Wesley's cool, "Are you certain this is wise, Angel?" to Spike's shrieked, "Are you out of your bloody TREE, you fucking MORON?"

Nothing he hadn't fully been expecting... especially considering Buffy's disappointing response. He would have thought that his lover, of all people, would be able to understand his motivations... accept his choice. It was difficult to hide his growing frustration with all of the people who were supposed to know him best. Why couldn't they *understand*?

He stood near the desk, waiting for them to quiet down so he could explain further. Faith, Spike, Wesley, Cordelia, Gunn and Doyle all occupied various seats around the Hyperion's lobby, while Buffy sat at the bottom of the Grand Staircase, sharpening her short sword and wearing the same dark scowl that she had since the evening before.

She hadn't said a word to him in almost 24 hours. Every time he approached her, she turned around and walked away. She'd locked their bedroom door against him, a fact of which he was acutely aware as he lay awake all night, debating with himself whether or not to continue arguing with her during his exile on the daybed in the sitting room.

He couldn't remember the last time he and Buffy had slept apart.

Finally, the hall was quiet, allowing him to speak.

"I know that none of you are comfortable with this. But I honestly believe that the best course of action is to let Darla decide for herself what she wants to do. And so far, that's been nothing."

"Yeah, but for how long?" Cordy complained. "I mean, how many times does she have to say she wants to murder us all in cold blood before you believe her?"

"Angel, I realize that you are trying to help Darla come to grips with her situation," Wesley cut in, "But I am still in no way convinced that she isn't a real danger to us all... most especially to you."

Doyle nodded. "We're all just lookin' out for you, Angel. The Big Kahuna of vampires raised her from Hell. That's not exactly a good omen, ya know?"

"And you think it was a soddin' accident that she escaped Frost to begin with?" Spike shouted, "Even you can't be that stupid!"

He regarded them all calmly. "Look, I've thought of all that, believe me. I didn't come to this decision quickly or easily. But the fact is this -- we aren't going to help her, or learn anything about her agenda, so long as she's chained up in that room."

"And really... she is just one vamp," Faith agreed, "Not like we can't take her out if there's trouble."

Angel shot her a look, but concurred. "Exactly. And this way, if she does make some move to contact Frost, we'll know about it. We can follow her and find out exactly what the situation is."

"A, no offense, man, but... the 'situation' is that this city's overrun with vamps!" Gunn interjected, "We barely have enough manpower to keep track of all of the new throngs spillin' in... let alone keep an eye on *one*!"

"Darla's not going anywhere, " he insisted. "I think what's happened to her has left her confused and angry. She's in a lot of pain. All she needs is some time, and for us to let her be. We'll keep an eye on her the same way we have been, and meanwhile, we can turn our focus to other business."

Everyone present remained silent, but the tension didn't ease.

"Fine," Wesley said gently, "We will respect your wishes, of course. But I feel I must remind you that chances are very good that Darla's arrival is only the first in a chain of events that may very well lead to Buffy's... well, to something serious that threatens her life."

"Yeah. Remember, Darla's name was up in *big* lights on the 'Slayer's Execution Dream' marquee," Spike bitched, "She was right there leadin' the pack while you were *guttin'* her."

"And in Doyle's vision," Cordy added.

"Nothing is going to happen to Buffy!" Angel snapped, then quieted, "Not as long as I'm around."

"Then why are you doing this?" Cordelia cried, "Darla's like, step one on the road to Angelus and the end of the world! That is NOT a trip I want to take!"

"As long as Buffy is safe, there's no danger of me losing my soul. And as long as I exist, *nothing* is going to happen to Buffy. Look, I appreciate all of your concerns, I really do. But we need to start looking for the Council. Spike -- were you able to get anything out of Merl?"

His Childe scowled at the sudden change of subject. "No. He says all the vamps comin' in got their mouths shut tight as to why."

Angel turned to Faith. "What about the Oracles?"

The secondary Slayer shrugged. "More of the same. Changes are coming, be prepared, blah blah blah."

He nodded. "I have a feeling that the human sorcerers Korin mentioned are Wolfram & Hart. I'll be heading over to speak to my friend Lindsey when he leaves the office tonight."

"Don't bother. Last I checked, he was on an 'extended vacation'," Gunn reported, "He hasn't been to work or home in a couple of weeks now."

Angel's expression fell.

"If you'd been payin' attention to somethin' other than your *ex*, you mightta known that," Spike complained.

His Sire shot him a glare. "You mind your business, Spike, and I'll mind mine."

"We need to find the Sanguinati's hide out," Faith reminded them, "And *fast*."

"What about Korin?" Doyle asked.

Cordy shook her head. "She doesn't really remember how to get there. And... she sort of freaked out when I asked her, so I sent her upstairs to take a nap."

"When she gets up, have her go over the DWP maps again," Angel replied. "Faith and Spike -- when you go out tonight, I want you to go back to the tunnels where you found Darla and follow them further in. See if you can find any sign of where they ran from. Wesley, you and Doyle head over to Caritas... I still think that's going to be our best place to get information. Gunn... if you can spare some men, I'd like lookouts posted on Lindsey's apartment and the Wolfram and Hart building. Cordy, after you speak to Korin, get Willow on the phone and find out how things went with the Grandmother this afternoon." He concluded his orders and began to move toward the stairs.

"Wait just a soddin' minute there, mate! You gave all of us fun chores. Just what the Hell are you gonna do?"

Angel stopped at the foot of the stairs, looking down at Buffy as he replied, "I'm going to try to talk to Darla again."

Buffy's frown grew deeper, and she gave him a 'that figures' look. "What about me?"

His expression was contrite. "You're staying here."

She leapt to her feet. "What? No *way*! I want to be out there *doing* something!"

"You're not safe out there, Buffy. Everyone's right about at least one thing -- whatever is about to happen will be happening soon. I want you here, where I know you'll be safe, okay?"

His lover remained silent, but he could feel her frustration and anger burning across the link. Finally, she spun and stomped up the stairs and out of sight.

Angel sighed wearily and followed. "Everyone meet back here at midnight. And be careful."

~~~~~~

He was frozen. Again.

Angel stood in the stairwell at the entrance to the fourth floor where Darla was staying, and looked at the next flight of stairs, up which Buffy had just run if the lingering scent of her fury was any indication.

Duty or love? The competing imperatives rattled around in his exhausted mind. He should go up and talk to Buffy. But he should also go up and talk to Darla. It was his fault that his lover was upset... and also his fault that his Sire was upset.

Just what the Hell was he supposed to do now? The hardest thing about all of this was untangling the two drives... duty... love. Were they separate, in either case? Was Buffy right -- was he too close to all of this, taking Darla's presence too personally to see clearly? Was there a difference here, between what his heart felt and what his sacred duty called for?

With Buffy, the two were usually one and the same -- their personal relationship was in no way separate from their job. It was a line that had never been a problem for them before, because their interests always meshed. And he was still convinced that they did this time, as well. His Sire was the key to a great many of their most pressing unanswered questions regarding their enemies' plans. But naturally, Buffy's jealousy just didn't allow her to see it that way.

Which led to his current complicated dilemma. He knew that he was personally invested in what happened to Darla, on a great many levels he didn't think he had even begun to touch. He understood that his conflicted feelings toward his Sire sprung from irrational guilt and remorse for things that couldn't have been different. He could never have truly loved her without a soul. And he did what he had to do when he killed her. Darla was a monster, then -- he knew that better than anyone. And some part of him had understood, even that early on, that his Destiny was somehow tied to the young Slayer whose life he saved.

But intellectual understanding of his emotions did nothing to tame them. Hence, the irrational part of the guilt.

He hauled off and punched the steel fire door in frustration. Just what the Hell was he supposed to *do* about this? How could he be expected to choose between what he had sworn his life to, and the woman he *owed* that life to? How could he figure out what was part of his job and what was the twisted manifestation of his demon's madness? How was he supposed to balance between the humanity that loved Buffy, and the damned pit of evil inside him that wanted... something else?

His head soon followed his fist, banging hard against the door with a dull thud that echoed through the stairwell.

"I'm thinkin' that's not really gonna help, buddy," Doyle's quiet brogue informed him.

"Maybe if I crack my skull open, my brain will spill out, and I won't have to think anymore," he complained, but didn't move from his moping spot, forehead still pressed against the metal that was only a few degrees colder than his own body temperature. "Every time I think things can't get any worse..."

His friend chuckled. "You should know better than that, by now. That's one of Murphy's Laws, brother." The half-demon shuffled over and took a seat on the stairs. "It's not supposed to be easy, remember? Everything you got, you gotta work for. Sort of the definition of "making amends", you know?"

"I'm not afraid of *work*, Doyle," the vampire moaned, flipping over and leaning his back against the door. "I just can't stand being put in impossible situations. How am I supposed to stay focused on the game when the players won't stand still... or... the field, even? How am I supposed to learn the rules if they keep changing on me?"

The Irishman shrugged. "Dunno. They just pay me to get the visions, not answer questions people been fightin' over since people walked around wearing sheets and sandals."

Angel sighed, his big frame sagging even further. "I don't know what to do."

Doyle couldn't remember ever hearing such indecision and confusion in his friend's voice. Except maybe on the morning after a day that had never been, when Angel was forced to make another impossible choice. Funny that the Slayer figured centrally in that one, too.

"What do ya want to do?"

Angel closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "I want to pack up, grab Buffy, and move to the nearest demonless tropical island and sip daiquiris in the sunshine all day long."

The seer couldn't help but chuckle. "Ya got a couple of extra seats on that plane to Denial Island? 'Cause I'm thinking me and Delia might wanna go, too."

The vampire gave a weak smile, but immediately sobered again. "How do you and Cordy do it? You always seem to be on the same page."

Doyle frowned. "The same *page*? Hell, boy, we're not even readin' the same *book* half the time. Now...don't start thinking like that, Angel. You an' Buffy are more together than any two bipeds got a right to be. You just hit a rough patch, that's all. It'll pass."

Angel shook his head. "I don't know. It's like this Darla issue is a wall we've run into. We can't get around it... or over it. I mean, I understand that Buffy's scared and... jealous. But she should know that she doesn't have to be. I would never let anything happen to her. And no one comes before her in my heart."

The half demon cocked an eyebrow at him. "Have you told her as much? You know... she might be the Slayer... you all might have a mystical soul bond deal going on, but she's still a *female*."

He flashed his friend an angry glance. "We're facing an army of *vampires*, here. Now is not a good time for me to have to reassure Buffy of something she should know in her *soul*."

Doyle leaned back and regarding him carefully. "So... she shouldn't be upset that you're spending all of your free time and energy on another woman? A woman you lived with for a hundred and fifty years?"

"I don't LOVE Darla!" he barked. "Emma told us that we have to stand *together* no matter *what* we face. That's where our strength lies. Buffy expects me to understand that, so why doesn't she?"

"Are you listening to yourself, man?" Doyle shouted, "This is exactly what we've all been tryin' to tell ya! Angel... the only way the Sanguinati can get their claws in ya is to separate you from the Slayer. And look at you! They didn't have to *do* anything else but send Darla in exactly the condition they did! Damn it, man! You gotta hang on! Be smart! You and Buffy been through way too much together to run now, doncha think?"

"I'm not running!" Angel cried. "I'm standing here, trying to fight for what I believe in!"

"Yer makin' this harder than it has to be," Doyle said, calming, "You want my advice?"

The misery on his partner's face as he nodded nearly broke the half-demon's heart. He got up and approached him, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Get done what you have to do. Go talk to Darla. Then get yer head outta yer ass and go talk to Buffy. I mean *really* talk to her. Or better yet, *don't* talk -- just hold the girl and let that link thing you've got going on do the talking for you. You know as well as I do that she'll understand eventually."

Angel sighed. "I know. I just... I hate that she's being hurt by all this. Buffy should know better than anyone that the bigger issues have to come first, before our personal problems. No one understands more intimately than her that sometimes we have to sacrifice in order to do the right thing."

Doyle leaned against the opposite wall. "You're not helpin' anything by telling me."

The taller man gave his friend a weary half-smile as he opened the door. "Thanks. I think I just needed to vent a little."

"No trouble, my friend. Sounding Board's my middle name," he replied with a good natured grin, and went back down the stairs.

Angel stepped into the hallway, considering what he would say to each of the women. How was he going to placate both of them enough to get the recalcitrant Darla to talk... and the hurt and angry Buffy to trust that he knew what he was doing?

He paused just outside the door to Darla's suite, and reached out to his lover through the link. Touching her when she was feeling like this was like stepping into a room on fire. Her fury, confusion, and distress were sharp and hot against his soul. He used psychic fingers to try and caress the jagged edges, whispering to her in his mother tongue... something that usually soothed her.

'Buffy...'

'Leave me alone.'

'Please. I need for you to understand. I have to focus on what I have to do, right now... not what I want to do. Okay?'

'Do what you want. I don't care.'

The link snapped shut with an almost audible noise in his mind. He sighed, and let it go. Nothing was going to be solved between he and Buffy until they spoke face to face once more. He sent one last tiny wave of apology and affection, to which she didn't respond, and then closed his end of the link.

He knocked on Darla's door, and entered. His Sire sat in a rocking chair near the window, gazing out at the darkening sky.

"What do you want now?" she complained softly, not bothering to turn and look at him.

Angel sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. "Why haven't you left?"

He watched Darla's profile draw into a thoughtful frown. "I don't know. Maybe I'm in no mood to have your friends attack me."

"Why would they do that?"

His Sire turned to look at him with a bitter smirk. "You can't be so naive as to believe they would actually let me *go*."

He shook his head and gave a little shrug. "Not naive. Certain. We discussed the matter, and everyone agreed that the best course of action is to let you make the decision to stay or go on your own."

"Ah, yes," she chuckled, "So you can track me back to the Sanguinati, right? Well... save your energy, Angelus. As you so aptly surmised on your own -- I'm no more welcome at Court than you or Spike. I have nowhere to go, and no information to offer you. So you're wasting your time."

For the first time since her arrival, Darla's pain was clear in her sharp tone, leaving Angel suddenly at a loss as to how to respond. He had believed that she wasn't directly involved in Frost's plans all along, but... some part of him had thought she would at least try to flee once she was unchained.

But there she sat, looking as lost and alone as he had been imagining that she was. Where had her steely facade gone?

She gave him a long, searching look, her gaze plunging deep into his soul. "I still don't understand why you haven't destroyed me. Certainly that would be simpler for everyone concerned."

Angel glanced away from her, unable to handle the pain in her eyes. He realized suddenly that, as much as he had been thinking about this very moment -- about the opportunity to finally have her open up to him -- he was utterly unprepared for it to actually happen.

"I told you, I can't. I understand your pain too well." He finally drew his eyes up to her face once more. "I've sworn my life to helping the hopeless, Darla. And I know exactly how hopeless you really are right now. No matter how hard you've tried to hide it from me. I've been there."

For a moment, the vampiress remained still, lost in the dark comfort of his gaze. 150 years of her life, she had spent watching those mahogany orbs devour the world--devour her-- with abandon... and still, they had an effect on her that was almost brand-new, now.

Was it his soul that made it seem so? Or hers?

Even after all the years they had been separated... so many of them consumed by her resentment toward him for leaving her... her grief for the loss of him... sitting here in the darkness now, it was almost as though no time had passed at all. It was just as it had always been. Darla was completely enraptured by his very presence. And honestly, too tired to fight the truth of the matter any longer. It was so difficult to hide from him when he was so persistent, and still seemed to know her so well...

"Do you know what I find most difficult to understand about all of this, Angelus?" she whispered.

He gave a barely perceptible shake of his head in response.

Darla got up from the chair and closed the distance between them, sitting close beside him on the bed. Her gaze wandered over that angelic face... the face which had captured her in its spell in a seedy Galway bar 250 years ago, and not released her for even a moment since. He was so beautiful... always so unbelievably beautiful... and the compassion in his eyes gave them a shine she didn't think she'd ever seen before.

Looking into those eyes, she could believe that he genuinely cared. But she still could not comprehend *why*.

"Why are you doing this? You say it's your duty, and yet... Why me? You owe me nothing. I'm the one who made you what you are. I would think that watching me stumble and fall on my own would give you great satisfaction."

A flash of hurt showed in his eyes, as though her comment wounded him. Then his face softened, as did his voice, when he replied.

"Because I've been where you are. I've experienced what you're going through. I remember that pain like it was yesterday. Being torn between all that you've known for centuries, and this entirely new reality crowding for space in your consciousness. I know that confusion... that emptiness. And worst of all, the knowledge that there is no one else in the universe who can understand what you're going through." He fell silent for a moment, and simply looked at her. He had forgotten, in the twisted wreck of his memory, how truly lovely Darla was... how sweet and innocent her unguarded face. And with its new shadow of soulfulness... he thought she was twice as beautiful. Weakness was something his Sire had never been able to abide... to see her so vulnerable pulled fiercely at his heartstrings. He automatically reached out to take her fine hand. "But I do understand. And I promise... it fades. It'll take time. Strength and patience, but it does get easier. Especially if you let those who care about you help."

Darla blinked in surprise at the real depth of emotion that echoed in his deep, gentle voice. Such tenderness... had she ever heard it from him when they were mated, so long ago?

No... she had held no such soft emotion for him... chances were good that he hadn't for her, either. This... what was happening now... was a whole different ball game than anything they had ever shared before.

All because of a couple of souls. The irony was almost laughable.

"When you were in my place... I turned you out. And yet... You still care about me?" she asked him softly.

Angel continued looking at her, pausing only for a moment before he replied, "Yes. I do."

His admission struck her like a bolt of lightning, and loosened the wall of stone and steel she had been building around her heart, forcing tears to her eyes.

"Why?"

Angel took a deep breath, and gently reached up to brush her cheek with the back of his hand.

"I don't know," he said furtively, "Maybe because I can see my past in your eyes. Maybe... even after everything that's happened, you're still central to who I am. Or maybe just because... I can see your soul." He let his hand drop. "I honestly don't know. I've paid so dearly for every moment we spent together, Darla. But... my life is full now. I have a true family for the first time. People around me that I know I can trust, no matter what we're facing. I have a reason to *be*. And... to love." The last word seemed to snap him out of his nostalgic daze, and he backed away from her. "Things I know you've never had either. And honestly... if it hadn't been for you... I might not have had the opportunity to experience any of it."

For a moment, her vision blurred with her tears, but in a flash, she was overcome by anger once more. She abruptly got up and marched back to the window.

"Just because I have a *soul* doesn't mean I have a *single* regret," she exclaimed. "So save your preaching for someone who cares to hear it!"

Angel stayed where he was, staring down at the ring that never left his right middle finger. He took a moment to let its symbolism wash through him: love, loyalty, and friendship. All things that Buffy had gifted him with... and all things which he had never shared with the woman who stood before him now.

How could he ever explain to Darla all the blessings of having a soul, when his soul had no words to express those blessings with?

"I know that I regret spending two human lifetimes with you... and building nothing," he murmured, more to himself than anything.

Darla spun on him, her face twisted with fury. "NOTHING? You think we made NOTHING?" she shouted, "WE built an EMPIRE, Angelus! We were a maelstrom the likes of which this sorry planet has never SEEN, before or SINCE! So much so that one hundred years after the end of our reign together, demons the world over still speak our names in *terror*! We. Built. A. LEGEND! That, my boy, is POWER. And power is the ONLY thing worth having. The ONLY thing that NEVER FADES!"

He sighed sadly, realizing that he had failed once again to tell her what he so badly wanted her to know.

"There are a lot of other things worth having, Darla. But having an understanding of right and wrong -- and acting on that -- is a power all its own. Love is power. Loving someone... being willing to give everything you are to them... for them... that's power, too. A source of strength like nothing you can imagine. You can *have* that now, don't you see? This is your chance to..."

"GET OUT!" she screeched, rushing at him, "You can KEEP your love, and your DAMNED SOUL! I WANT NO PART OF EITHER!"

He watched her tears finally break free, running like rivers of diamonds down her pale cheeks, and her voice choked even as she shouted.

"Darla..."

"I SAID GET OUT!!!" she screamed, yanking him to his feet and shoving him toward the door. "I'VE WASTED ENOUGH OF ETERNITY ON YOU!"

"It doesn't have to be this way!" he argued desperately. "You have a chance to do everything over again. You can find *real* power... power that *means* something. Please... don't throw it away like this. Let me..."

A sob from her interrupted his pleading. She cried openly now, pushing him harder through the doorway. "I never asked for a second chance! I never WANTED ONE!" she shrieked, and with one final burst of energy, shoved him out the suite door and into the hall, slamming the door in his face.

He let his head droop, and listened to the echoes of her cries continue inside the room.

.//Well... you certainly did a great job here. Might as well face the same from Buffy.//

He took the elevator up to their floor. The effort of stairs just seemed like too much, right now. Buffy's anger continued to pulse across the link, growing stronger as he drew nearer to their door.

As he dragged himself into their rooms, he was almost unsurprised to find the place a minor disaster area.

The bedroom itself was the worst. Clothes and other items were scattered everywhere. For a moment, Angel thought maybe Buffy had trashed the room in a fit of rage... until he noticed that every drawer in both bureaus, and the armoire door, hung wide open. Buffy's large duffel bag lay open on the bed, overflowing with her things.

He stood in the doorway, staring at the scene in disbelief.

Buffy finally came stomping out of the walk-in closet, her arms overloaded with shoes.

"You're... leaving?" he whispered, too weak to make a sound.

She flung her burden on the floor and shot him a dangerous glare before marching back into the closet once more.

He couldn't seem to find the will or energy to move... or speak... or anything, but his heart somehow managed to take over and do it for him.

'Buffy, please... don't do this. Talk to me.'

His lover returned with another armload of clothes, and started shoving them into the bag, completely ignoring his plea. Overcome by his frustration, he stepped toward her and grabbed her arm, forcing her to look at him.

"Damn it, Buffy! What are you doing!?"

"Get your hands OFF me," she hissed, twisting out of his grip. "I can't DO this anymore, Angel! It tried to understand, I really did. But I *don't*, and I *can't*! I will *not* take a back seat to that... BITCH! I won't put MY life on hold so you can relive your glory days or whatever!" She spun away once more and resumed her frantic packing, haphazardly shoving items into her bag.

"You can't think that's true," he objected, "You can't believe that's what I'm doing."

"No? Well," she chuckled caustically, stomping back to the closet and returning with another suitcase, which she flung beside the first on the bed. "It sure looks that way to me."

"Stop this," he begged softly. When she didn't, he reached out and stopped her... more gently, this time. "You always come first with me, Buffy. Just... right now, we..."

She shoved his hand away. "Yeah, I know. We have to put our *duty* first. We have to save every fucking monster in the *universe*, first! We have to do EVERYTHING ELSE FIRST! You know what? *You* are more important to me than *any* of that! As far as I'm concerned, Los Angeles, Sunnydale --the whole goddamn PLANET-- can go straight to HELL if you're not happy! Besides -- it seems like "we" doesn't include *me* anymore, anyway, so what difference does it make if I stay or not?"

"It matters to me," Angel cried. "Is this about me asking you to stay in from patrol tonight?"

Buffy whirled to him again, and laughed in his face. "You can't *possibly* be that stupid! That's only PART of it! You're willing to set HER free, but you want to lock ME up in here like I'M the prisoner! You'd rather sit down there and let her INSULT you for hours on end than spend five MINUTES talking to me!"

"That's not fair, Buffy! Think about what she's going through!"

She froze, her expression twisting even further. "How about this? I don't CARE! The only thing I'm interested in seeing that bitch go through is the dust bag in my DIRT DEVIL!"

"Now you're just being childish," Angel snarled under his breath.

He felt her fury kick up a notch, like a blaze of fire through the link.

"CHILDISH?!" she screeched, "You think *I'm* being *childish*? LOOK WHAT SHE'S DOING TO US! TO YOU! You think you can somehow change history by helping her? Well, you CAN'T! You did what you did, and letting her beat you up isn't going to change one MINUTE of it! It's not going to do anything but make you lose what you have NOW!" She took a step toward him, slamming one hand against her chest. "*I* need you, Angel! The fucking world is about to come to an end. We're standing on the edge of THE war, and I can't do it without you!"

"You don't *have* to do it without me, Buffy," he argued, "Listen to what you're saying!" He reached out and took her gently by the shoulders. "Just because I want you to be safe doesn't mean I'm choosing Darla over you. I'm right here. I haven't gone anywhere."

"You are NOT right here! Even when you ARE here, you're STILL with her!" Buffy raged, "Or did you forget that I can feel your emotions and hear your thoughts? You think about her all the time, and I can't STAND it! We promised to stand together no matter what, and you're not holding up your end of the bargain! You're too busy obsessing and playing one-vamp support group to the MONSTER WHOSE FAULT IT IS YOU WENT THROUGH WHAT YOU WENT THROUGH IN THE FIRST PLACE!"

He shook his head. "I thought you trusted me. I thought you understood why I have to do this. "

Buffy's rage left her in a rush, and her voice was choked with tears as she said, "I think I do. Do you?"

"What kind of a question is that? Of course I do! Buffy... you're strong. Solid. You have your feet on the ground, and plenty of people around you for support. Darla is lost. She has *nothing*. Right now, she needs me more than you do."

He knew the words were a mistake before they even finished leaving his lips... but by then it was too late to stop them. Buffy's eyes went impossibly wide, and a frightening grimace claimed her soft lips. "Really! Is that what you think? Well," she hissed, "You can just go FUCK DARLA THEN, BECAUSE I'm *DONE*!!!"

Like some bizarre replay of the scene with his Sire just a little bit earlier, Buffy shoved him out into the living room and slammed the bedroom door in his face. With a pained sigh, he turned...

And found Darla standing behind him, looking up sympathetically. He stared at her, fighting the urge to just curl up on the floor and sob. She said nothing, but gently took his arm and led him out of the suite.


	12. All's Fair...

Deacon Frost, Prelate of the Sanguinati Council of Vampires, sat at the head of the conference table in the war room of the new American headquarters, far beneath the busy streets of Los Angeles. He took careful but silent measure of each demon and human present, noting their demeanor, their expression, and their body language as they argued amongst themselves over how to address the problem of Angelus and the rogue Order of Aurelius.

Thirteen chairs besides his own surrounded the enormous ovular table, each occupied by the standing Master of the Council's ruling Orders. One of those chairs was taken by their human liaison, the slimy little lawyer, Lindsey McDonald. But it was the empty chair -- the seat of shame -- upon which Frost's gaze remained locked even as his attentions wandered with only a vague interest from one agitated speaker to the next.

That chair had not been filled in some five years now, since Nest's First Made, Darla, had been destroyed by her traitorous Childe and his future mate, the Vampire Slayer. As the time of the Great War grew closer, it was that unoccupied seat that became the focus of every pocket of chaos exploding around him.

All because of one vampire with a terminal guilt complex, and a little girl not even old enough to vote. Or at least... she hadn't been at the time.

"I will say again what I have been saying since The *True* Aurelius was destroyed -- the line is DEAD! What members of that blood remain are unfit to take seat at Court!" insisted Jaquin, current Master of the LaVeigner Order. "Its standing should be declared *void*, and another line given representation!"

"There *are* no other lines loyal to the Council, you fool! And without The Thirteen, the Court *itself* is void. There *must* be a vampire in the Chair of the Aurelius!" argued Pentatia of the Vesufus.

"Nonsense!" shouted The Comnenus, "The numbers of Court families is *irrelevant*! It is our power and influence that matter, and this has not changed!"

"Perhaps in the Old World, that is true... but we are in a new land, now! We need all of the families... all of the traditions to remain intact!"

They were the same arguments that had been plaguing the Council for as many centuries as Frost could remember -- and he imagined, many more before that. One Order was always in disfavor and derided publicly by the others, while in private, there were closed-door meetings between and within every clan, forging surreptitious alliances and bargains.

Same old political bullshit. Personally, he had little interest in the bloodline of Aurelius itself one way or the other. Although he stood firmly on the side of power and stability offered by the organization he led, he had little time or desire to waste worrying about outmoded traditions, charmed numbers... or even sacred law. There was a world to be conquered, and all of this sitting about and squawking was wasting precious time and resources.

Honestly, if he had cared one whit about the topic currently under such heated debate, he would have brought Darla -- the rightful Aurelius -- back *without* a soul, set her upon her seat, and been done with it. But what the fools all around him failed to see was the larger picture -- the proverbial forest for their insignificant trees. Soon, their race would be at war. Not the small-scale battles they had always experienced, but the war to end all wars. If vampires were to survive -- more, to *win* -- there was only one who could fill the vacant seat beside him.

Of course... he put little stock in ancient prophecies, either, so even their need of Angelus was debatable.

"What say you, Prelate?" called Chung Hi, interrupting his musings.

Frost sighed. All of this bickering was terribly tedious... a formality that changed nothing, and only served to drain precious energy that they should be investing in insuring their future, not preserving their past. He often felt like a character in the Charlie Brown cartoons... surrounded by the incoherent droning of foolish "grown-ups."

" 'The general who heeds my council is sure to win,'" he quoted without raising his gaze from the empty chair, then slowly looked around at each of the faces around the table. " 'Such a general should be retained in command. One who ignores my council is certain to be defeated. Such a one should be... dismissed." He emphasized the final word to be certain that the others understood, although he quoted Tzu directly, that he meant *eliminated*.

The gathered council members fell silent, all the ancient countenances marked with various degrees of shock, fear, or incredulity.

Fools, the whole lot of them. Frost was by far the youngest of their numbers, and yet... he had either disgraced them or killed their Sires to get where he was today. Despite his youth... despite what they considered his radical ways... there was not one among them who would dare challenge his word.

Though they often enjoyed making quite a show of doing so.

"Is that a threat, Mr. Frost?" hissed The Blackthorne.

The Prelate merely gave him a patient smile. "Certainly not. Just a reminder of where our attentions should be focused at this time."

"Ah, yes," drawled the LaVeigner, always one of his chief opponents, "Your magickal ambush of the rogue Aurelius. I believe we have each made our confidence in the success of that plan clear."

"The magicks of the Beldisian Annals are unpredictable, at best," Hi complained, "You take great risks for what will no doubt be a dismal failure... as already demonstrated by what happened to the *true* Aurelius."

Frost leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands under his chin as he met each hostile gaze trained on him. He owed the Council no justifications or explanations for his actions. All of their successes in the century he had sat as Prelate were based on his efforts, and his alone... their financial holdings... their ties to human politics and governments... their growing membership. Certainly, the Masters were powerful in their own small ways... not one of them was under a thousand years old, save himself, and a vampire certainly didn't live that long without having more than half a brain in its head. But the Council, and all of its loyal subjects, belonged to him... and everyone at that table knew it. They would argue. They would throw their little temper tantrums. They would mock him.

But they would *never* make a definitive move against his authority.

However, if Deacon Frost was anything, he was a diplomat, so he continued to allow them to play their games... and often played right along with them, giving the demons under his command the illusion of control that their kind so craved.

If he had to be honest... it was sort of fun to play with their minds, as well.

"Victory is already ours, ladies and gentlemen," he assured them, "All of the pieces are in place. Tonight, the dark moon rises, and our efforts will bear their first fruit. Debate at this juncture is pointless."

The chamber instantly exploded into shouting once again... more meaningless, impotent babblings of cardboard dictators whose opinions ultimately meant nothing.

He let them bellow and moan at him for a time, feigning concern for their concerns. But all the while, his true focus remained on the minutes ticking by before moonrise , and to that single empty chair beside him. When finally even the demons grew tired of hearing their own voices, and the hoopla finally sputtered and died, Frost adjourned the meeting and made himself a drink as the dignitaries filed out of the room.

When everyone was gone, he was left alone with Lindsey and five of his most loyal minions.

"Sire, with all due respect," his First Made, Christophe, said, "I understand the concept of a minefield, as you keep calling this plan. But what I fail to understand is how you believe any of this will gain us the favor of The Aurelius. Certainly he cares not whether his Dam retains her soul -- she is his sworn enemy! He is banned from this Court for murdering her!"

Deacon could no longer contain his mirth, and chuckled softly. "My boy, your vision is almost as limited as our mortal friend's, here," he teased and gave Lindsey a friendly pat on the shoulder. "We have all read Master Tzu's treatise on war, have we not? 'All warfare is based on deception. Hold out baits to lure the enemy. Strike the enemy when he is in disorder. If your opponent is of choleric temper, try to irritate him. If he is arrogant, try to encourage his egotism. If the enemy troops are united, try to sow dissention among them. Attack the enemy where he is unprepared, and appear where you are not expected. These are the keys to victory.' " He moved among the circle of his allies, projecting his voice so that it filled the room. And still, all present stared at him blankly.

He rolled his eyes and snorted derisively. To think... these were the *sharpest* of his men.

"Darla's not the focus of the spell!" McDonald suddenly declared.

Frost's smile quickly returned. "Ah! Very good, Lindsey! Finally you begin to show your true worth to me. Bravo. No... Darla is *not* the target of our endeavors tonight. That, you see, is exactly what Angelus and his fellows are expecting. She was merely the... incendiary device that has set the foundation of his army aflame. Angelus is a minefield in his own right... and his immediate circle is a larger one. Now, we have irritated his temper. We have stricken him where he lives... at his very center--his bond with the Slayer. We have set explosives into the tear inside of him between his solemn vows, his true nature, and his ties to the human world. Tonight, we will appear where and when we are least expected. And we will attack him where, ultimately, he is least prepared to face us." Frost retook his seat at the head of the conference table, and sipped at his drink with a self-satisfied smirk. "My intelligence informs me that the foundations of the House of Aurelius are already crumbling. It is only a matter of hours before the first pieces start to fall... squarely on his head."

Five robed vampires entered the room, armed with holy books and bags of some horribly malodorous magickal ingredients, each falling to their knees and touching their foreheads to the floor in deference to him..

"All we have to do is give a little push," the Prelate concluded with a broad grin.

~~~~~

Buffy was lugging the last of her suitcases into the sitting room, clinging to her rage like the only life preserver that could save her from drowning in the ocean of tears threatening to crush her heart, when Faith came in.

The Slayers' relationship had changed a lot over the past year. Although they would never again be as personally close as they had been when Faith first came to Sunnydale, Buffy had learned that she could at least trust her sister-Slayer as an ally. Her protectiveness of Angel had made all the difference--anyone who defended her lover as fiercely as the brunette did got five gold stars in her slam book, for sure.

Of course, the way that she was feeling about Angel himself right now made her view of that alliance just a little bit skewed, as well.

Faith leaned lazily in the doorway, watching her pack.

"So... you're leavin', huh?"

Buffy kept moving, throwing knick-knacks, weapons and books in a couple of boxes she'd dragged up from the basement. She had to keep moving. If she stopped, even for a second, she would think... and if she thought, she would break down, and if she broke down then she'd go running back to Angel, and be doing nothing but enabling his insanity -- the one thing she *refused* to do.

"No, I'm having a yard sale," she snapped, and kept right on tossing things into the boxes.

Faith chewed her lip, considering where she was going to go next. "Why?"

The elder Slayer stared at her for a moment, as if she had really been asking why she was having a yard sale. But then she got it, and turned back to what she was doing.

"Because I'm sick of Angel treating our *home* like a retired villains' shelter, that's why."

Faith raised an eyebrow at the obvious shot, but decided to let it go.

"And because I'm tired of coming in second after the monsters," she went on, "If I'm going to be lonely and missing him anyway, I might as well do it where my family is, right? I mean... at least in Sunnydale, I *know* who the bad guys are... and that I'm allowed to *kill* them!"

The younger woman sighed, and wondered for a moment how Angel was taking this... if he even knew. She had backed him up 100% (okay, so... at least 95%) through this whole Darla thing. But that support was based on her trust of his good, solid judgment -- something Angel usually showed tons of. But the past couple of days, she'd started to question just how close to sound... or even sane... his judgement really was right now.

Especially if he was going to let Buffy leave.

"Okay. If that's what you want... me and Spike can drive you back after patrol." Faith took a step further into the room and crossed her arms over her chest, looking down at the rampaging blonde. "But... don't you think you oughtta try to talk to Angel first? I mean... I know his brain's all scrambled with this Darla thing, but... you probably shouldn't just..."

Buffy stopped and cut her off with a glare. "I'm *done* talking. I've been talking until my tongue's starting to shrivel up in my mouth. He's not listening, and I *can't* watch him do this to himself. I *won't*. Not over her."

Faith watched what she was throwing into the boxes -- totally random things, it seemed, which she took as pretty clear evidence that Buffy wasn't thinking too clearly herself... and she was about to do something she would *really* regret, later.

"That's sad," she commented.

"What is?"

The brunette nodded toward the growing mound of luggage piled in the middle of the sitting room.

"This. You splittin' on Angel."

Buffy snorted. "Why? It's not like he and I have been to *Hell* and back together or anything!"

There was no way Faith could miss the tears that threatened just beneath the bite of bitter sarcasm in her sister's voice. "But what about..." she fumbled for a moment, looking for something important about their relationship that wouldn't go straight for the hearts and flowers mush -- stuff like that probably wouldn't help, considering the shape Buffy was in right now. "The prophecies and stuff, B? The whole bond thing? You guys are destined and all that. I don't think you can just walk out."

"Destiny's a crappy reason to stay in a relationship," Buffy quipped, grabbing the last armload of clothes from her side of the armoire, throwing them in a pile on the bed, and began frantically sorting through them.

"You can't really mean this," Faith argued, coming a little closer. "You can't leave Angel. You just can't. That's like... turning off *gravity* or rescheduling *sunrise* or something."

"Huh. Really? You don't think I can..." she froze in mid-retort as she got a look at the item of clothing she held in her hand.

The silk was faded from so much wear, making the burgundy closer to a deep, dusty rose, and there were a few spots where the delicate material was beginning to wear through. She blinked as she stared down at it, and remembered the first time she'd worn it... the night she defeated Angelus, and bound herself and Angel, blood, body and soul, for eternity. She remembered easing the soft fabric over her torn and wounded skin... sitting in the chair next to their bed in the mansion, weeping in fear and worry and total exhaustion. She remembered watching blood seep through the bandage she put on his neck... where she had torn into his throat... the expression of utter peace that settled over his beautiful features as he slept.

Buffy held the old shirt to her face and inhaled deeply... it still smelled like Angel, she thought... and on the exhale, she burst into tears.

Faith didn't hesitate to walk over and put her arms around her friend.

"I don't know what to do, Faith!" Buffy sobbed into her shoulder, "I can feel him slipping further and further away from me, and I don't know how to stop it!"

Faith hugged her, and then pulled away, wiping at the blonde's tears. "I'll tell you what you're going to do. You're gonna go down to that ho-bag's room, drag his sorry ass out into the hall, and give him some major shit. Don't let her do this to you, B! You're *way* better than that! I know I sure as Hell wouldn't run if Drudzilla suddenly showed up looking to get her hooks back into Spike. I'd kick that stupid bitch's ass from here to Hell before I'd let her..." she cleared her throat. "I mean... you should talk to him. No holds barred."

Buffy couldn't help but smile. "I think I'd pay to see that. The Dru thing, I mean."

"Listen. You and the Big A love each other. You've been through a whole Hell of a lot worse than some reconstituted skank screwing with your minds. Don't let her get away with it. Go talk to him, and don't stop talking until he figures out he's being a big asshole."

The primary Slayer straightened her posture, took one last swipe of her eyes, and said, "You're right. This is *our* home. I'm not letting her drive me out of it!" She turned on her heel and marched out, leaving Faith grinning after her.

"You go, B."

~~~~~

"I don't understand. Where will you go? What will you do?" Angel asked from his perch on the edge of Darla's bed. Her announcement that she had decided to leave after all was just one more unsettling shock in a night full of them.

He pushed away thoughts of Buffy leaving. If she was going to throw what amounted to a jealous temper tantrum, then far be it for him to stand in her way. She'd come back when she came to her senses and realized how self-centered she was being.

Darla shrugged and sat down beside him. "Honestly? I have no idea. Italy, maybe? All I know is that I can't stay here. I don't want to come between..." she shook her head. "I have to find my own way, and you need to keep doing what you've been doing."

Angel scowled deeply.

"I'll be *fine*," the elder vampire insisted. "I am 400 years old, Angelus. I'm fairly certain I can manage on my own."

He looked away. "I wish you wouldn't. I'd like for you to stay."

His voice was so soft... so hurt. She wondered if she had opened that wound... or if it was because of his fight with the Slayer. She reached up, gently cupping his face in her hands, and urged his gaze back to hers. "Why? There's nothing left between us. Nothing left to say. You've done far more than you had to. This isn't my world, Childe. It belongs to you and..."

She left off Buffy's name... though whether to spare him or herself, she wasn't certain.

Angel shook his head. "There is a place for you here too, if you're willing to try."

"No," she insisted, and rose, turning to grab the sweater donated to her by one of the women whose hatred she could scent permeating the air all around her, before looking at him once more. "I don't think I'm quite cut out for heroic good deeds. But thank you... for everything."

He got up and stood before her, laying one of his huge, gentle hands on each of her shoulders. "Please, Darla. I want to help you. I need to. You don't have to go."

Her lip trembled a little as she smiled sadly up at him. "You saved my *life*, Angelus. That's help enough, don't you think? You've shown me a great deal of kindness and care. You've given me some hope. That's more than anyone has ever done for me... in all of my days."

"It's not enough," he argued.

"It *is*. It's *more* than enough. Your Slayer is right, you know. I'm a danger to all of you. And whatever may have passed between you and I... I don't want to see you hurt anymore because of me." She chuckled at herself. "Look at that. Perhaps I have changed, after all."

Angel let his hands drop, and stepped away from her. All of the exhaustion and stress of the past few weeks seemed to press down on him at once, and he swayed slightly under its weight. To his surprise, Darla gently put her arms around him and held him until he was steady once more. The cool touch of her hands brought his gaze back to her face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm sorry I never loved you."

Darla sighed softly and reached up to brush his cheek again. "You did, in your way. And I most certainly loved you in mine. You will always be a part of me, my sweet. But those days are long gone. You have a new life, now... a mate that you *do* love. Don't let your sense of duty ever get in the way of that. Or nostalgia for a creature that is better off dead and gone."

He finally found the will to give her a sad smile. "That's surprising advice, coming from you."

She shrugged and gave him a smirk. "I didn't say I *approved*. But this soul nonsense seems to have made me a bit soft." She glanced toward the window. "I should go. I want to find somewhere to stay before dawn."

Darla look her ex-lover's hand and led him to the door of her suite. Angel opened it for her, but before she stepped out into the hall, she turned and embraced him heartily.

"Be well, Angelus," she murmured.

He gave her a squeeze. "You too, Darla. Please... keep in touch. I'd like to know you're all right. And don't hesitate to contact me if you need help." He pressed one of the AI calling cards into her small hand.

Darla pulled away and found herself once again lost in his beautiful, dark eyes. "How I envy that damned Slayer," she whispered, and stood up on tiptoe, brushing a soft kiss to his lips.

For a moment, Angel didn't move... he closed his eyes and let a century and a half of memories wash over him like a flood... visions of as much tenderness as savagery, he realized. Maybe he'd been hasty in insisting that he had never loved her. After all, it was a well-known fact that vampires had the capacity to feel love... if they'd possessed it as human beings. He wondered, as he kissed her, her lips like a well-remembered path he'd once walked... had he? Or was it just wishful thinking on the part of his soul?

"Oh... my God..."

He yanked away from his Sire to find Buffy standing in the Hallway outside, her hand over her mouth, and her eyes wide with horror.

"Buffy..." he gasped.

His lover stared at the two of them, trembling visibly. Then, with an agonized sob, she turned and sprinted full speed down the hall toward the fire exit.

For a long moment, he couldn't seem to move. He listened to the echo of Buffy's crying from inside the stairwell... the fading sound of her footsteps pounding as she ran...

He turned back to Darla. "I'm sorry," he said, and ran after her.

The vampire smirked at his retreating form. "Don't be...I'm certainly not," she murmured to herself.


	13. Where He is Least Defended...

Spike grabbed Faith's ass again, eliciting the same reaction he had the last three times -- she jumped, spinning in mid air, and shouted at him.

"Will you *quit* that??? I'm trying to concentrate! Jesus!"

Her lover grinned. "Can't help it. I'm feeling peckish."

Faith rolled her eyes. "If you think you're gonna snack on me every time we screw now, you've got another thing coming there, Bunnicula."

He jogged up behind her and caught her in a crushing embrace, whispering softly against the healing mark at the base of her throat. "You're mine now, Slayer. I can have you any time I like."

Faith shivered involuntarily, then collected herself enough to give her body one good, hard twist, throwing him off.

"You got a Hell of a lot more wrong with your head than a chip if you think that's true. You're not that good."

"Yeah? That's not what you said last night." Spike stopped walking and began to gesticulate dramatically, crying in an off-key falsetto. "Oh, Spike! Yes, baby, you' re so good! Don't stop! Hurt me! Harder! Faster! More!"

The brunette rolled her eyes at him. "You're a hundred and change... don't you know fake when you hear it by now?"

Spike leapt once again, catching her easily, and held her in a loose headlock. "Come on, Slayer. Admit it. You can't get enough of me." He nipped at her neck.

"Keep dreamin', Sunshine. I'm just keeping you around until somethin' better comes along," Faith drawled, hooking her hand under his arm. "Now, you've got about two seconds to let go before I get *really* pissed."

The vampire held her fast, whispering in her ear. "Big talk, sweetheart. You're not going anywhere until you admit that you're nuts about old Will."

"Fuck you, Cream Puff," the wiggling Slayer grunted.

"Come on, Faith. You can tell me. I'm the man. I'm the Big Bad. I rock your bloody universe."

"Forget it."

"Come on."

"I *said*," Faith hauled off, and in one fierce burst of strength, flung him over her shoulder and sent him crashing to the pavement a few feet away. "FORGET IT!"

Spike lay on the ground, tucking his arms behind his head, and grinned up at her. "You're head over heals for me, Psycho Girl."

She snorted and stepped over him. "Whatever gets you through the night, Junior."

He leapt to his feet once more and jogged after her. When they reached the entrance to the DWP subtunnels, he caught her once more and shoved her up against the wall, pressing his body tightly to hers.

"I can smell it on you," he growled, inhaling her deeply, and then flickered his tongue around the outer shell of her ear. "You might as well just give up the tough bitch act."

Faith relaxed, letting her head fall back and clutching his shoulders as he nibbled his way softly down her neck.

"Okay," she gasped, "I admit it."

Spike pulled away, surprised that she gave in so easily. Usually, this particular argument could go on for hours. "Yeah?"

She smiled evilly. "You're slightly better than Cinemax and a vibrator. Except when you run your yap."

He grinned. "Sounds like love to me, Pet," he drawled, and kissed her.

"Ohhhkay. I don't mean to interrupt disgusting PDA time, but... isn't there some vampire ass around here somewhere we're supposed to be kicking?"

At the sound of Buffy's winded voice, Spike let Faith go and spun to glare at her.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he snapped, "Aren't you supposed to be fighting with Prince Alarming back at the Palace of Woe?"

Faith whacked him in the arm and moved toward her sister Slayer, who bent over, catching her breath nearby. "Ignore him. All that booze has rotted his brain. So... I take it you didn't talk to Angel?"

Buffy snorted bitterly. "He was busy," she snapped, and glanced up at the tunnel entrance. "This the Stinky Arms? Suits the bitch. Wish you guys had left her here."

Faith and Spike exchanged a look.

"What do you mean he was busy?" the secondary Slayer inquired.

The blonde shot her a dark frown. "I mean, Angel was doing something else with his mouth that didn't involve me, and sure as Hell didn't include talking. Do you have another stake?" Faith tugged one out of her jacket and handed it to her, and Buffy immediately marched into the tunnel. "Let's get this over with. I want to get home before dawn."

Spike gave his lover a questioning glance. She responded with a shrug, and quickly followed Buffy.

"Hold on, B. Are you saying he was... monging Darla? No way! It couldn't have been what it looked like. Angel wouldn't..."

The primary Slayer stopped in her tracks. "No? Hm. Let's see. His lips all over her lips... I didn't really get close enough to see if there was tongue, but... her hands were definitely wandering down to ass territory, and he was actively involved in some pretty enthusiastic hair tangling. So I'm thinking, unless I've been doing it wrong all these years, Angel apparently *would*, and *did*. So can we not talk about it anymore and find these Council creeps so I can get home and get some goddamn sleep?"

She spun around and resumed her angry walk.

"I don't bloody well believe this shit," Spike commented as they hurried to catch up.

"Tell me about it," Faith agreed.

***

Christophe watched from his position in the brush outside the Hyperion, as first the Slayer, and a few minutes later, Angelus, came tearing out of the hotel and vanished into the night.

He laughed. He had to admit to being surprised that his Master had so accurately predicted what would happen here. Not that he was in the habit of questioning Frost's undeniable tactical brilliance, but even he had doubted that the plan he had hatched would progress with such pinpoint precision.

Of course, humans -- and demons with human souls -- did tend to be a bit on the predictable side.

He turned to the group of vampires gathered behind him.

"Well, gentlemen. It would appear that we have our cue. Are we prepared to proceed?"

The group -- ten soldiers and five hooded sorcerers from the House of Daleadon, Frost 's own Order -- gave a collective nod.

"Good. I believe we'll have achieved our goal, and be back in the compound in time for dinner," he posited cheerfully, and led the regiment in the direction their prey had been heading.

***

Angel took long, deep breaths as he ran, fighting to stave off the hysterical panic that continued to threaten him.

What had he been *thinking*? *Kissing* Darla? However badly he felt for her... however much he was conflicted over her presence, or concerned about her well being... nothing excused that.

.//But would you have minded if you didn't get *caught*?//

He shook the thought away -- that was something he might have done as a human man, when he cared little where his lips fell, so long as there was female flesh beneath them.

.//But you've been out of your head for weeks, now. Why not be unfaithful to Buffy, too?//

He slammed mental doors shut over his rioting self-recrimination, and focused all of his energy on the signals he was tracking his lover with, instead -- the scent of her hurt and anger, and the same emotions trickling through the bond she still held tightly shut against him.

She had kept a good half-mile ahead of him the entire time, and he couldn't seem to gain on her. Angel had forgotten, somewhere along the line, how fast Slayers could run -- especially when they were upset with their faithless lovers.

No! He wasn't unfaithful to her... it wasn't that kind of kiss... was it? No. No. It was affection. A nostalgic moment... goodbye, and nothing more. Buffy just... got the wrong idea.

He should have known better. He should have told Darla no. But it was far too late for should-have's, now... now he had to concentrate on making some inroads to repairing the damage he had been doing over the past couple of weeks.

How could he have been so stupid... so blind to the person who was the center of his existence? The reason for all his happiness? How could he have been so careless with her heart?

With a start, he realized that his family had been right. Darla probably was allowed to escape the compound for this very purpose -- to throw him off balance. To shift hiis focus and energy from his true duty...

And to sever his ties with Buffy.

Her scent kicked up to his right, and he figured out where she was heading -- the sewer tunnels where the others had first found Darla. Where he had sent Faith and Spike to try to retrace his Sire's route of escape from the Sanguinati compound.

Of course. When Buffy was upset, she would go looking for a fight. Only this time, he wasn't sure if it was a fight she would find... or an ambush.

"God, Buffy," he gasped, and poured all of his energy into running faster.

Wesley's words about her life being in danger echoed in his mind... setting the perfect soundtrack of misery to the pain pounding in his heart.

***

The two Slayers and Spike stood at a split in the tunnel a few yards past the collapsed section where they had first found Darla.

Buffy looked to the right. "I'll take tunnel number one, Wink. You guys check out the other end."

Faith gave her sister Slayer a grave look. "It might not be such a good idea to split up, B. We don't know how close we are to ground zero."

"I'd rather go alone," the elder woman grumbled, and ran off without further comment.

Faith watched her go for a moment, debating whether to follow, when Spike grabbed her and pulled her in the opposite direction.

"Just let her mope for a while," her lover suggested. "Better for everyone. Especially the Poufter. He's lucky she didn't stake his sorry arse."

She didn't reply, but fell into step beside him, until her vamp alarms kicked up above their usual Spike-baseline. In almost the same moment she felt it, he stopped and craned his head to listen to something behind them.

"You hear that?" he asked, turning around to peer into the inky shadows.

"I'm a Slayer, not a dog," she snapped.

He glared at her. "Well, I do. Smell somethin', too. Can't quite get a lock on it above the sewer stink."

In a heartbeat, Spike's observation and the cramping in her gut came together in a realization. She shot Spike a grin.

He returned it, coming to the same conclusion. "See? The ponce ain't gonna let Princess Buffy go running off all upset. Runs fast, too, for a fat old bastard."

Faith nodded and took his arm, suddenly feeling better than she had in weeks.

"Let's let them go at it. You and me can get the work done," she chuckled, and the pair moved on.

***

Buffy's mind was going a mile a minute... while it had a ten-ton weight chained to it... and no matter how hard she tried to focus, she couldn't seem to rein it in.

How could Angel do this to her? Kissing that... *thing*? It was one thing -- and bad enough -- that he kept taking Darla's side over hers. At least that she could almost understand, even if she was really worried that he was going nuts... but *face-suckage*?

Well, at least she had a memory she could clearly label "The Last Angel Straw". No *way* was she just going to sit around and wait for him to decide he was better off spending eternity 12-stepping with that fangy slut instead of battling evil with her... and then end up getting dumped on her superhero ass for her troubles. After all, what was a mutual destiny and bonded-souls when up against 150 years of hot demon sex, blood ties, and big boobs?

She just couldn't figure out where she had gone wrong. A couple of weeks ago, it seemed like they had come to an understanding, however begrudging it might have been on both their parts. Yes, Angel was tense... confused and upset... he'd admitted as much, time and time again. Honestly? She couldn't blame him. And sure, maybe she had been acting just a little bit like a jealous harpy... and maybe the threat of leaving had been taking things a little too far.

But *kissing* Darla?

She couldn't get the picture of the two of them out of her head. Every detail of that moment was burned in perfect detail into her memory. Angel kissing Darla. Angel's lips on Darla's lips. Angel's eyes closed and his hands in her hair as he kissed her.

Buffy growled in frustration as she stumbled deeper into the pitch-black tunnels.

"Okay, Summers. You're just obsessing yourself into a corner. Pay attention," she muttered to herself. After all, she was in completely unfamiliar territory, looking for what was probably the biggest vamp nest on the face of the planet. Hundreds of old, tough vamps all in one place. Dozens of Masters just like the one who killed her, years ago.

And there was nobody around to give her CPR this time.

But Angel kissed Darla! her heart screeched. She'd felt it collapsing in her chest as she ran away from them, and the damn thing still ached like crazy now. How could she be expected to care if every vampire in this dimension was waiting just up ahead to pounce on her when she was dealing with that?

"You probably should have thought about that before you came out on Scorned Woman patrol," she mumbled.

Just as she did, her Spidey sense started wailing, and her gut clamped into a tiny knot, signaling just the goddamn demons she didn't want to run into right then, approaching from behind.

Her battered heart, however, gave a little leap. Maybe it was Angel. Maybe he had a really good explanation for what happened...

"Yeah, right. Or maybe it's Ed McMahon with my Publisher's Clearing House check." She spun around and tried to look like she could actually see more than a foot in front of her. "Okay... just so you know, I've had a *really* bad couple of weeks. And I am *really* pissed off at my boyfriend. So if you're looking for a fight, great, let's get to it, because I have a *lot* of anger to work off. If not, then I highly recommend the Turn and Run Like Hell strategy of survival."

A single vampire -- cute in a Dave Navarro/Satan In Leather sort of way, with his long, slicked back black hair, dark, sleepy eyes, ultra hip goatee, and black leather separates -- stepped forward.

"Why would I run, Slayer," her new companion drawled calmly in an accent that she could just barely nail as French. "When I've endeavored so hard to find you?"

Buffy cocked an eyebrow at him as she yanked her stake out of her jacket and crouched into fighting stance. One vamp could *definitely* work as therapy. Maybe after she toasted this guy, she could face going back to the hotel and actually talk to Angel without staking *him*.

"What, you figure today's a good day to die?" she quipped.

Rocker-vamp gave her a seductive smile. "Hardly."

As if his word was their cue, more vampires began to appear out of the shadows. Fifteen in all, that she could see. Ten of them were huge -- like, bodyguard huge -- and those advanced on her, while the remaining five spread out in a small circle and began to chant.

"Oh shit," Buffy moaned as the first pair of vamps attacked.

***

Faith froze as she heard footsteps hurrying behind them. She and Spike turned together, back-to-back, the way they always fought.

And relaxed when they saw Angel sprinting toward them.

"Where's Buffy?" he asked, obviously trying to control the panic in his voice. "I lost her scent down here, and the link's closed."

Faith scowled at him. "Good. I hope it hurts."

Spike rolled his eyes at her lame insult.

Angel sighed and hung his head. "It wasn't what she... Look, we don't have time for this. Buffy could be in real trouble."

The other Slayer said nothing, but just kept glaring stakes at him.

"She went the other way. Got her britches in a mighty twist, too," Spike informed him helpfully. "I'd think twice about trying to patch things up right about now, if I was you. You might just find yourself at the nasty business end of a pointy stick. You know what they say about a Slayer scorned..."

Angel opened his mouth to serve his Childe a scathing retort, but before he could, his senses exploded -- blinding light... searing pain ripping through him...

And Buffy screaming through the link. 'ANGEL, HELP ME!'

The internal signals of her distress were echoed by light that Faith and Spike could see physically in the distance, accompanied by the sounds of battle, and a rumble like thunder booming off the walls of the narrow passage down which Buffy had gone.

Angel stumbled in the wake of her fear and agony ripping through him, but Faith and Spike each grabbed one of his arms and dragged him back toward the other end of the passage. After a moment, he managed to tamp down on the pain, pulled away from them, and poured on the speed.

He often relied on the demon's instincts, speed, strength, and agility in battle. But only rarely did he call on its natural rage and lust for violence... and he only let that happen when someone he cared about was in immediate and dire danger.

There was no need to summon the demon now. The moment the threesome rounded the corner and he caught sight of Buffy backed up against the collapsed tunnel wall, fighting no less than ten large, strong vampires, the demon broke loose of its own accord, exploding from its carefully constructed cage inside him. With a roar that echoed even over the cacophony of whatever magick the attacking vampires were using, he dove into the fray, tearing apart anything that his bare hands came in contact with, fighting desperately to get to her.

Faith and Spike quickly joined him, and soon both Slayers and their vampire lovers were embroiled in furious battle.

Their opponents, however, were prepared for them. Pairs of the soldier-vamps fell on each of the three newcomers, while the remaining nine remained focused on Buffy, keeping themselves squarely between her friends and the sorcerers. Angel howled in rage and pain as one of his attackers clubbed him in the head with an enormous mace. As the darkness took him, and he went down into the muck, the last thing he saw was one of the robed demons raising his hands and screaming his chant.

"Buffy..." he coughed.

There was another blinding flash of white light... a final scream from his mate, and then the world went black.

***

"It's *way* worse than you think, Will," Cordy explained as she sat in the office, keeping an eye on Darla and Korin, who sat on one of the couches in the lobby. "I mean, things have been tense around here ever since you-know-who showed up. But you should have seen them tonight! Buffy went running out of here like she was on *fire*, and Angel ran after like, not ten seconds later, not looking too cheery himself. I don't know what happened, but Faith said first Buffy was packing like she was going to leave, and then..."

An ear-splitting howl from the lobby interrupted her chatter. Cordelia dropped the phone and leapt out of her chair, stake automatically in hand, and went tearing out of the office. Darla lay curled up on the floor in full demon face, writhing and screaming at the top of her lungs. The slave fairy knelt beside her, clutching her desperately, staring up at Cordelia with terrified eyes.

"What's wrong with her? Is she having another soul attack? Should I get the elephant tranq?" Cordy shouted above the din.

Darla's amber eyes locked on her... the pain the ex-cheerleader saw in them made her shiver. "Angel!" the vampire shrieked, blood tears pouring down her face, "Oh, God, something's happened to Angel!"


	14. Ruh roh...

If Doyle hadn't been so damn terrified, he would definitely have had to give the AI team a hearty pat on the back for record quick response time. Within minutes of 'Delia's "A1" page (their code for immediate, "mortal" danger to one of their crew or an impending apocalyptic situation) all but one of the varied factions of their group had gathered at the entrance to the abandoned DWP underground where Korin had first brought them to Darla.

All Cordelia had to say were three words -- 'Angel in trouble'. The long string of babbled ones that came after hardly registered in Doyle's brain at all, and before his girlfriend finished speaking (or, rather, screaming hysterically) the half-demon was already grabbing Wesley and tearing out of Caritas.

Now he sort of wished that he had listened a bit more carefully. The tunnels seemed even darker than the last time they'd come down here, so that even Wesley's industrial strength flashlight barely cut the inky black as they ran. Worst of all (so far, at least) was the eerie utter absence of sound inside the passageways. Even the echoes of their frantic footfalls splashing in the muck were completely absorbed by the unnatural quiet, as if the tunnels had become a vacuum that swallowed every tiny noise they made.

That could only mean one thing, in his experience -- magick. Very big, very bad magick.

They ran full speed anyway, without knowing exactly what they were supposed to be looking for, but still trying to be prepared for anything. Was Angel dead? And if he was, how would they know? It wasn't like a big pile of ashes would exactly stand out like one of those glowstick things in all this unrelenting darkness.

Then the situation got worse. The air a half a mile or so into the passage was billowing with thick, white smoke. Wesley, Doyle, Gunn, and the seven members of his gang he'd brought with them tried to keep running, covering their faces with their jackets, shirts or bandanas, but nothing could filter out the noxious stuff. Not five yards further, they were all on their knees or stumbling, eyes watering painfully, and breath completely choked. There was an unspoken agreement between them that they could go no further, and all the men turned back to the last place where the air had been clear.

"Magick," Wesley coughed. "The cloud doesn't move or dissipate at all... just blocks that entire section of the tunnel."

"Ya know, this is one a them rare occasions when we really *need* a vampire," Doyle choked in response, "Where da Hell is Spike?"

No sooner had the question left his lips, than the blond appeared from the thick haze, his hair singed and skin caked with a thick layer of bizarre red soot, carrying a limp Faith in his arms.

He stumbled toward them, managing to hand the unconscious Slayer to Gunn before he collapsed into the muck.

"What the Hell happened?" Doyle shouted at the fallen vampire, who lay doubled over in obvious pain. "Where's Buffy and Angel?"

"Not... breathin'!" Spike coughed, pointing to Faith, "Can't... mouth to mouth!"

"Fuck!" Gunn shouted, and ran a few yards back, where the corridor widened, set Faith down, and immediately began CPR.

Wesley and Doyle each grabbed one of Spike's arms, hauled him up between them, and dragged him to the same spot.

"Spike, you don't need to breathe," Wesley reminded him with a disapproving scowl.

"Magick... arse monkey!" he barked, clutching at his chest.

Doyle was quickly loosing his cool. He dropped to a crouch beside the blond, and did his level best not to scream at him. After a few moments, Faith sputtered, and Spike quickly slid close and grabbed her away from Gunn, clutching the choking woman to him.

"S'all right... pet... all right, now," he murmured haltingly, gently stroking her hair.

"WHERE THE GOOD, HOLY FUCK IS ANGEL?" Doyle finally exploded.

Everyone present froze and stared at him in shock.

Except Spike. The vampire calmly shook his head, not letting up his death grip on a conscious but still-dazed Faith for even a moment. His voice was hoarse as he replied, "Dunno. Buffy got jumped by a pack of vamps. Casting spells... like a bloody H-bomb blast. Couldn't find either of 'em in the smoke."

"WHERE?!" the half-demon bellowed.

"Oh, Dear God," Wesley moaned.

Spike nodded back the way they had just come. "Right tunnel. 'Bout a mile back... near the collapsed... part."

Doyle turned to the others. "How the Hell are we gonna get back there? We have to find them!"

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Doyle, I'm aware of that," Wesley snapped, already flipping open his cell phone. "Cordelia? Yes. No... there's a clouding spell that we can't navigate. Noxious smoke. It means poisonous, Cordelia! We can't find Angel beyond said smoke -- hence the phone call. Stop. Stop it and listen to me, damn it! Get the Book of Cavran. It's on the shelf immediately behind Angel's desk. No. The red one! Yes. A dispelling incantation. Good. Yes, read it to me." He yanked a small memo pad from his pocket and scratched frantic notes as he listened. "Good. Right, then. We'll contact you as soon as we know anything." He hung up and glanced up at the others once more. "Gunn, get Spike and Faith to the entrance. Mr. Doyle and I will go back and search for Buffy and Angel."

"Like Hell!" Gunn barked, "I'm going with you. Curtis, Mike, take these two out front. The rest of y'all are with us."

Wesley immediately began to chant as he led the group back into the cloud. The steady rhythm of his Latin seemed to act as a vacuum, and the air cleared slowly before them as they marched forward, their remaining members scouring the murky floor for the lost Slayer and vampire as they went.

Doyle tried to distract himself by silently reciting half-remembered bits of prayers as he searched, and fought not to think of all the horrible worst-case scenarios that kept chugging along in his mind. Angel and Buffy were *not* dead. Angel was *not* soulless and now running straight into the welcoming clutches of the Sanguinati. Their entire world was *not* about to come crashing down around their ears.

His own powers *hadn't* failed by not giving him a vision warning them about all of this.

Finally, the last of the smoke vanished, revealing the collapsed end of the tunnel up ahead...

And a barely identifiable, crumpled body lying at the foot of the rubble.

"Holy Christ!" Doyle shouted, and all the men dove toward it at once. Wesley reached the body first... it was half-submerged in the sewage, but it immediately became clear that there was only one corpse... and it was far too large to be Buffy. The Englishman fell to his knees and gripped the limp form by its broad shoulders, and turned it over.

"Good Lord," he gasped when he got a look at Angel. His skin, like his Childe's, was caked with blood-red soot, and marred with bruises, cuts and burns. He hauled the unconscious vampire into his lap as the others looked on in horror. "Angel, can you hear me?"

Doyle forced his gaze away to glance at Gunn's men. "Go back into those collapsed side tunnels we saw. Find Buffy!" Slayer or no, if she was in the same sort of shape as Angel... she probably wouldn't have fared as well.

The other men dashed back into the tunnels without comment as the half-demon and Gunn dropped into a crouch beside their fallen friend.

"He's not dust," Gunn observed hopefully, "That's a good sign, right?"

Wesley looked from one of his friends' faces to the other. "It means he hasn't been...destroyed. But it tells us nothing about the state of his soul," he reminded them woefully.

Doyle cursed the Powers at the same time he once again began to pray.

***

"Here, have some water," Cordy offered, holding a glass of water to Darla from *extreme* arm's length. She wished she had like, a ten foot robotic arm or something so she didn't have to get so close.

But... at least the vampire wasn't screaming anymore, and her face was fully back to sweet princess mode. The blonde sat curled up on the largest couch with Korin sitting practically on top of her. She accepted the water and downed it in a few frantic gulps.

"Thank you," she finally managed, setting the empty glass down on the coffee table.

Cordelia sat on the chair across from her, trying not to think about the fact that she was completely freaked by having to comfort the vamp whose fault all of this was to begin with.

Darla was still obviously uncomfortable, telling by her continued shivering, but seemed to be keeping it under control... at least enough to be grilled, in Cordelia's opinion.

"Now... what happened to Angel... exactly?" she asked the demon.

Darla shook her head slowly, as if the small movement took more strength than she really had. "I don't know. There was just..." her voice broke, "Pain. He's in so much pain..."

Cordy gulped, fighting the return of her own earlier hysterics. There'd be time for falling apart later. Right now, she needed to get some answers. "He's... not..."

The vampire's red-rimmed eyes rose to her face. "No. He's... still alive, but..."

.//He probably wishes he wasn't,// Cordy thought with a pang.

At that moment, the main doors burst open, and the lobby instantly flooded with people. Gunn's men carried Angel's limp form between them, while Spike bore Faith in his arms. The younger vampire immediately headed up the stairs with his burden, while the others brought Angel over to the couches in the lobby and gently set him down.

"Angelus!" Darla cried, jumping to her feet and rushing to his side.

Cordy grabbed Doyle. "God... what happened?"

"Dunno, Princess. Spike says they were attacked by a pack of vamps with some serious mojo."

She glanced down at the couch, where Darla now held her Childe cradled gently in her lap. The dark-haired vampire was red from head to toe, some parts of his clothes burned away to reveal seared skin beneath.

"Is he... okay?" she whimpered.

"I don't know," her lover replied, tenderly taking her in his arms.

Korin appeared from the kitchen a few seconds later, carrying a large bowl of water and a fistful of towels, which she handed to her mistress. The blonde set the items down on the table before her, careful not to jostle Angel, and morphed to demon face, tearing her wrist open with a jagged fang. She forced Angel's mouth open, and let the gushing wound pour into it as she stroked his throat to force him to swallow.

Cordy grimaced and turned away, as did Doyle. They joined Wesley, who stood at the check-in desk, scouring the old tunnel maps laid out there.

"Demon first aid," Doyle mumbled to the ex-Watcher.

"Yeah, with a big "Gross" on the front. Hey, wait..." Cordelia cut herself off and looked around them. "Where's Buffy?"

Wesley glanced up from the maps with an expression of deep sorrow.

"We were unable to find her, even after we cleared the smoke."

The brunette's eyes went wide, and she unconsciously clutched Doyle closer. "What? Buffy's... gone? But... what... how... who???"

Wesley sighed, leaning heavily against the counter beside him. "We don't know exactly, but..." his gaze wandered sadly out to the lobby, where Darla and Korin worked to clean Angel wounds, before he looked back at his two friends once more. "We can safely assume that the Sanguinati have made their first move, and either took Buffy, or... killed her."

"We won't really know 'till Angel wakes up," Doyle added softly, "Only he'll be able to tell us for sure whether she's... gone."

Cordelia stared at her unconscious friend. "Oh God... Angel. What if she's..."

No one completed her question, but all three friends shared the thought:

What would happen to Angel if Buffy was dead? Not only in the sense that he might very well go insane from the grief... but also on a purely practical level. What would become of the ties that bound his soul permanently to him if his lover... his anchor... was gone?

"I should call Mr. Giles," Wesley sighed, "He needs to know what's happened. And...one of you contact Old Emma right away." He glanced sadly at his friend in the lobby. "We may be in need of her services... soon."

***

Buffy woke with a headache like somebody poured concrete into her sinuses. For a moment, she was confused -- she found herself lying on velvet bedclothes, over an *enormous* feather bed. Nice and comfy.

Except for one *tiny* detail... the fact that she was handcuffed to the slats of the headboard.

.//Okay... not home, then. And not a hospital. Although I guess it could be one of those no-tell motel honeymoon places in the Poconos, with the champagne glass hot tubs...//

She quickly rifled through her memories of the last 24 hours. Yup... all there: fighting with Angel, catching him smooching that bitch, and a big battle in the sewer tunnels, complete with fireworks.

Unfortunately, the fact that her memory was more or less intact did nothing to help her figure out where the Hell she was, or how she got chained to some strange bed in a dark room that was decorated like something out of a Hammer Horror flick.

With a little effort -- and a *lot* of discomfort -- she managed to turn her head to one side to check out the other side of the room. She screamed to find a set of icy blue eyes trained on her, attached to a tall, leather clad guy sitting in a big, antique chair beside the bed.

A vampire, no doubt about it. If her gut hadn't told her so, that lovely subterranean grey skin tone thing he had going on would have nailed it for her.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," the vampire apologized, his voice as smooth and soft as the sheets she lay on.

"Let me guess." Buffy gave the chains that bound her a yank, unsurprised that they didn't give even a little. Spike had often told her that no self-respecting Master ever traveled without a good, hearty set of magickal manacles. "You're making some kind of vamp snuff porn, and I'm the star."

Her companion smiled warmly. "No, Buffy. We were simply being cautious. You are, after all, the greatest Slayer in history. It wouldn't do to have you prove that by killing us all, now, would it?" He got up from his chair and stepped closer to the bed, allowing her an unobstructed view of his entire body -- tall, lanky, dressed all in silk and leather, and sporting that "I don't give a shit about my hair" hairstyle that so many rock stars were wearing these days. She vaguely remembered the vampire that had attacked her earlier, and wondered if maybe the Sanguinati were really more of an group for aspiring musician vampires than some moldy old council.

She had to say -- as kidnappers went, this one wasn't so bad on the eyes.

"So you know my name... do I get to know yours? I mean... if we're going to do bondage," she drawled, wondering vaguely why she wasn't just a *little* bit more nervous.

The vampire gave a dramatic bow. "Deacon Frost, Master of the Order of Daleadon, Prelate of the Sanguinati Council, at your service."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Great. Man, you guys don't take the long way around, do you? Just snatch me right up off the street. Where's Angel? Spike and Faith? You have them chained up around here somewhere, too?"

Frost looked at her closely with his icy gaze, as if searching for something. "All in good time, my lady. But first... how do you feel?"

The Slayer stopped for a moment to think about the question. She took stock of her various injuries: cuts and bruises over every inch of her body, the thudding ache in her skull... and underneath, a sensation she didn't think she'd ever had before.

Buffy raised her gaze to her captor's, and a smile suddenly spread across her face. "Ironically, I feel... kind of...free."

The Prelate smiled in return. "Wonderful. I'm glad to hear it. I was afraid there might be... side effects."

She frowned. "Side effects? From what?"

Frost ignored her question and turned away, moving toward the door. "I'll send a servant to draw a bath for you and help you dress. I've taken the liberty of obtaining some appropriate things for you to wear while you're here. Relax and settle in for a bit... then we'll sit down and talk." He paused in the doorway, glancing at her over his shoulder. "I have to say, it's a great honor to meet you, Buffy. I've been looking forward to this for... quite a long time," he told her, and vanished.

A heartbeat later, one of Korin's people brushed into the room with her eyes averted, and hurried to unchain Buffy. Once she was released, the Slayer sat up and looked around, trying to pinpoint exactly what it was inside her that felt so different.

It wasn't that she was numb, exactly, and yet... whatever Frost's goons did to her had removed something. She felt relaxed, like a ball of tension that had been sitting squarely on the center of her chest since... forever... was just gone. She listened to her thoughts and memories... remembered the battle that had brought her here... wondered what had happened to the others...

She stopped. That was it... she was curious what had become of her lover and her friends... but she wasn't *worried*.

"Okay... magickal lithium, maybe?" she wondered aloud.

Suddenly, things that she probably *should* be really upset about didn't seem to be bothering her at all. Big things, and not just Angel, either. Like... the fate of the world... the war they were supposed to be preparing for. The welfare of her friends and family. All the stuff she usually spent so much time and energy worrying about were just... not there anymore. The memories were still where they should be... as was the knowledge that she *should* feel something about them... but she didn't.

The Slayer smiled to herself. Whatever happened, she felt like her insides had been unchained and scrubbed clean. She felt liberated in a way that she hadn't since she stuck a stake in her first vampire, five years ago.

There was probably a price, but... if it meant she could feel like this forever...she was completely cool with paying whatever it was.

***

The air in the Hyperion's lobby was fraught with twice the tension that it had been for the past few weeks, though the noise level had lowered considerably in the hours since they had brought Angel, Spike and Faith home.

The elder vampire had regained consciousness rather quickly once Darla fed him, but he still hadn't moved, said a word, or responded in any way at all to his friends' attempts to communicate with him. He sat stone still at the very end of the couch, staring blankly into space.

Darla remained by his side, still attempting to reassure him with touch or speech every few minutes. Frankly, even she was beginning to be frightened by his continued catatonia. She hadn't been, at first... her fear was overwhelmed by her relief that he had regained consciousness at all. But as the hours crawled by...

She finally forced herself to rise and join the clutch of worried humans gathered in the office. All eyes rose to her as she entered, their expressions managing both concern and hostility as they watched her approach.

"How is he?" Wesley asked.

"The same," she replied, shaking her head. "Something is terribly wrong with him. It's like he's not... in there."

"I think he's in some sort of shock," the ex-watcher commented, then swallowed nervously. "Does he... do you think... he still has his soul?"

Darla turned and glanced at her First Made, who hadn't moved even a millimeter. "I think so. He still feels essentially the same, but his life force is very weak. I don't know what this magick was, but... it's broken something in him."

No one wanted to consider the implications of her statement -- that Buffy's disappearance, in conjunction with Angel's apparent reaction to it, could only add up to one thing.

"She must be..." Doyle mumbled.

"Dead," Angel finished in a flat monotone, still unmoving from his spot on the couch. "She's dead. I felt her soul being ripped away." He turned his lifeless gaze to his friends. "They killed her."

Everyone stared at him in horror. Wesley came out into the lobby first, followed clos ely by the others.

"Angel, we don't know that for certain. If they killed her, why would they bother to take her body?"

The vampire's eyes returned to their faraway target, and he murmured, "Probably to make sure that I come after them."

"Them? Them who?" Cordy yelped.

"The Sanguinati," Darla replied. "They would take her to the compound, and expect us to retrieve her."

"But we don't even know where the compound is!" the brunette cried, "That's the whole reason Spike and Faith went down there in the first place!"

Doyle stepped forward and put a comforting arm around her. "But they know we'll find them." He cast a concerned glance at his friend. "Angel... I don't think it's such a good idea that you try, though. I know you want her back, but... There's really not a whole lot of mystery to what they've got planned for ya, ya know?"

"It doesn't matter," the vampire replied, still not looking at any of them. "I'll get her back, one way or the other."

He was empty. Utterly and completely devoid of any emotion at all. The absence of Buffy's soothing presence in his soul was like someone had ripped his power source... his every nerve ending... his very heart... clear out of his body. Half of him wondered how it was that he simply didn't turn to dust where he sat. The lack of her warmth inside him left him feeling utterly alone, in a way he couldn't remember being since he first regained his soul. How could he still be here... still have that soul... without her?

Probably because the other half of him was focusing all his remaining consciousness and energy on rifling through memories of his unlife's most sadistic acts, pondering which one could best be used to express his grief to Deacon Frost. For he knew, deep inside himself, as acutely as he felt Buffy's loss, that something far worse than death had befallen her. And for that, the entire membership of the Sanguinati would pay.

There would be time for mourning later. Now was the time to kill.


	15. Unpleasant Possibilites

Deacon Frost leaned back in his chair at the head of the enormous dining table, kicking his feet up on the edge as he sipped at the goblet of bloodwine in his hand and pondered how incredibly well his plan had come off.

Far better than he expected, actually...

He imagined that Angelus would be back in Court before the full moon next rose. Of course... he would be dead not long after that. Frost had no intention of sharing his power on any sort of long term basis. *Especially* not with Angelus. He remembered his first meeting with the arrogant bastard far too well.

The year was 1796. Darla had dragged her First Made practically kicking and screaming back to the court she had eschewed shortly after she had also abandoned her Master and his Order. But Nest had insisted, in no uncertain terms, that *all* their numbers had to be present, or face the consequences. It was the greatest gathering of the clans since the Sanguinati's inception -- the entirety of its most powerful families had assembled at the Great House in Vienna in order to choose a new Prelate. Cassat, who had led their numbers since before even its elders were created, had vanished mysteriously a few months before, and was assumed to have met his final death. Having designated no successor, and there being no known members of the Cassat Order still remaining, the coveted position of the King of Vampires was entirely up for grabs.

And so Darla and Angelus had come.

Frost was second in command of his own Order, and Master of a rather large portion of territory in Eastern Europe, at the time. His Sire, The Daleadon, had encouraged him to make a play for the position in his bloodline's name, as he himself was uninterested in larger matters of politics.

So Frost had come to Vienna as well. The battles went on for days. He met the Masters of each of the member Orders and defeated them soundly, leaving only Aurelius to contend with.

Deacon had been young and cocky, then... invincible. He had little fear that Nest could defeat him. But as it turned out, The Aurelius had something completely different in mind for the challenge -- as a test for his most notoriously rebellious and powerful GrandChilde, he had declared Angelus his second in the final match with Frost for the seat.

It should have been a simple victory, awarding the Prelateship to the Chair of Daleadon. After all, Angelus of Aurelius was barely more than a fledgling, and his contempt of the court and all of its traditions were well known. The boy had no interest in winning. He didn't want the Sanguinati throne. He cared nothing about the esteem of Master Nest, either. He had accepted the challenge for lack of something better to do, as he had so loudly and arrogantly told the entire court. Not good conditions for successfully taking on one of the best fighters in the Council...

But Frost could still feel the sting of what turned out to be a seemingly effortless defeat at the whelp's hand, even these years later. Still recalled with perfect clarity and detail how Angelus had left him broken and bloody on the floor of the Great Hall. And worst of all, he remembered how the insolent boy had tossed his bloody sword at Nest's feet, told the Elder's council where they could stick their rules and traditions, and swaggered out with his Sire on his arm, never to be seen again.

True, seeing Nest come so unwound at the boy's slight had been fun, but it was hardly worth the wound to Frost's own ego at the defeat. It had taken him almost a century to regain what esteem he'd lost in that single battle... a great deal of energy spent separating the head of every Sanguinati member that smirked at him, or spoke the arrogant fledgling's name with respect, admiration, or amusement, from their traitorous bodies. But he had done just that. And right about the time that Angelus had regained his soul, Frost had finally taken his rightful and hard-earned place as Prelate.

But he had never forgotten the painful lesson learned at the end of the insolent Childe's sword. Being defeated by a vampire barely a tenth his age and experience had seared one goal beyond all others into his black heart -- before eternity's end, he would destroy Angelus. After thoroughly humiliating him first, and robbing him of everything he held dear before he danced on his dust, of course.

The prophecies of the Luciestat had not meant to him what they did to the priests and other elders. Frankly, he believed that he could just as easily lead vampiredom to victory in the Great War to come. But what those books did portend, and what he had spent his entire reign contemplating, was the opportunity to at last exact his retribution. They said revenge was a dish best served cold? Well... he imagined that two hundred years was long enough for it to have frozen nearly solid in Angelus of Aurelius' mind.

He smiled as he scented the Slayer's approach to the dining hall. Here came his first mighty blow against the supposed Great General now. He couldn't imagine that there would be another quite so satisfying to him -- and damaging to the whelp . Not even the final death blow that he would also soon deal. Stealing a Master vampire's mate was by far the worst of insults. There was no greater slap in the face to a demon with any sort of power or standing than to have an outsider abscond with his most precious treasure.

Buffy whistled appreciatively as she stepped into the cavernous room and looked around. It took a great deal of conscious effort on the Prelate's part to keep his jaw from dropping straight to the floor when he turned to watch her make her entrance.

She was a vision of pure beauty in the tight, burgundy leather gown that he'd provided. The dress had an intricately laced bodice that pushed and lifted her breasts to such an obscenely precarious position, they appeared as if they might pop free of their bindings at any moment. The lacings continued downward, accentuating Buffy's tiny waist, tight stomach, and round hips, and the cut of the skirt created a sleek line over her firm thighs. The dress opened at her knees, flowing into a soft, kid skin train trailing like a mist behind her, calling particular attention to her deceptively delicate ankles and tiny feet, upon which she wore stiletto pumps of an impossible height with perfect balance and grace.

He had known that she was attractive. In the course of his research, he had assembled a collection of photographs taken of Buffy over the years since her Calling which bordered on the obsessive. But seeing her like this... a vision of creamy living flesh, big, expressive emerald eyes and long, thick golden hair cascading like a waterfall of sunlight over her fine shoulders, fairly floating across the marble floor toward him...

Frost was certain he had never seen anything quite so spectacular in all of his days.

He blinked and gave his head a little shake, forcing himself back to reality. When he had been dreaming of Angelus' downfall, with this delicious female as his central pawn, he had never fully understood the power of her beauty... and had certainly never expected that power to have such a immediate or commanding effect on him.

This new development would change the game significantly... and more likely than not, make it infinitely more sweet.

"I see you found the clothes I picked out for you," he commented as he rose from his chair, keeping his tone polite. She approached the table and he took her hand, brushing the knuckles to his lips before he looked into her eyes. "You look lovely."

"Thanks," she replied, taking the seat he held out for her.

"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. Welcome to my home, Buffy."

She looked warily at the feast laid out on the table before her. Okay, so... this guy obviously didn't plan on killing her right off -- he easily could have done that while she was unconscious. But the new clothes? The food? What was he trying to accomplish, here? What did he want from her? If all he needed was to get his hands on Angel, wouldn't it be simpler just to kill her, instead of dressing her like a supermodel in 'Fangoria' and wining and dining her like some visiting queen?

"Funny," she snapped, giving him a hard look. "Isn't 'welcome' the sort of thing you say to somebody who was invited and showed up voluntarily, as opposed to, say... someone who was beaten unconscious, mojo-ed, and dragged here?"

To her surprise, Frost actually looked sincere as he replied, "You have my deepest apologies for that. I asked that you not be harmed in any way." The vampire smiled once more. "But... I'm afraid that we had little choice in the matter. I assure you, as the mate of Angelus, you are an honored guest here."

She met his gaze squarely. "Oh yeah? So I can check out anytime I want, then, right?"

His expression didn't change in any way that she could see, and yet... something in his cool smile started giving her the creeps.

"Of course. But... do you really want to?"

Buffy immediately opened her mouth to say "Duh...YEAH!", but before she could make a sound, she realized that the answer wasn't even *close* to that easy. More of these foreign sensations of freedom and lightness filled her. Why would she want to go back to a life full of pain and work and heartbreak? All that responsibility... all the vows and constant fighting just to exist. Back to Angel, whose presence had never really been anything more than one big, fat complication... especially with Darla in the picture.

She froze. .//Hold on. Did I just think that? Angel... a *complication*?//

Yeah, she realized... she did. Thinking like that about him... and his slut Sire... should have hurt. But again, she was acutely aware of the fact that it didn't. Although remembering what happened with Darla *did* serve to piss her off plenty.

Okay... what was going on (or not going on) inside of her was really starting to freak her out. Even if Frost had pumped her full of some magickal muscle relaxants or something to dull her feelings... squash her desire to escape -- that shouldn't have changed her so much, so quickly, should it? Something *fundamental* was different. And she didn't feel groggy or stoned at all.

Buffy could still feel echoes of emotions and her regular thought processes in her heart and mind. But they were only that -- like hollow shadows. She conjured things she knew slowly, one by one, as she considered her answer to Frost's last question.

She thought to herself, 'I love Angel. Angel and I have been through Hell to be together. We are bound by heart, body, blood and soul.'

But she didn't *feel* it. Same thing with her friends... her mom... Giles... her Sacred Duty. All of the thoughts and memories were there, but it was becoming more and more clear that they didn't have any *substance*.

Because of the hollow sensation that she couldn't begin to understand, she didn't reply.

Frost leaned back in his chair once more, reclaiming his wine, and chose not to call her on her lack of response. Certainly, it would take some time for her to adjust to her new state of being... once she finally realized what that was.

Luckily for him, time was the one thing he possessed the most of. He gestured grandly toward the feast laid out before them "Please... eat. You must be famished."

Buffy stared suspiciously at him for a moment, but then her empty stomach got the better of her. She quickly filled her plate and ate in silence, ignoring the Prelate's piercing gaze, but when she'd finished, she set her fork down and shot him a glare.

"Okay, look. I just want to know what you did to me," she demanded. There had to be some explanation for all this weird... emptiness inside of her that the meal didn't do anything to fill.

He peered at her over the rim of his goblet. "What do you think we did to you?"

The Slayer's pretty little mouth turned down into a surprisingly dangerous frown. "You have *no* idea how *not* in the mood I am for playing games, *Mr.* Frost."

He couldn't help but smile. Such anger... such a fiery spirit. No wonder Angelus had been unable to resist her allure -- souled or no.

"Please, call me Deacon," he insisted, "Or... Master, if you like."

For a moment, her look darkened, but without warning, the Slayer began to laugh -- full, guffawing bursts of it that echoed around the room. Infectious mirth. He found himself chuckling right along with her, although he was quiet certain that he wasn't in on the joke.

When she calmed once again, she wiped her eyes, then graced him with a smile that he could swear was best labeled 'hungry'... despite the enormous meal she'd just eaten.

"Should I move over and give your ego some room?" she quipped. "If you think I'm going to call you *Master*, you must senile. It takes a lot more than a pretty smile, a bad attitude, and tight leather pants to turn me on, *Deacon*. See... I've been there, done that, and his ass looks *way* better in leather than yours does."

Something in her mind stood back and gasped in shock at her words. What the Hell was going on here? Was she really... *flirting* with her *kidnapper*? Was this that weird Patty Hearst Syndrome thing or something? Yeah, Frost was hot, but...

Buffy tried to clear her head. But what? There didn't seem to be any 'but'. Where were her feelings of complete devotion to her one and only lover? Where was that little judge that lived inside her, who usually examined all cute guys with a critical eye, and universally declared, "Sure, he's hot/smart/funny/sweet, but he's just *not* Angel."

The Little Judge was nowhere to be found. There was no longing to see her lover -- the most beautiful, sexy, interesting, brilliant, witty, wonderful male in existence. No arguments raging inside her head against the desire to lay her hands on this stranger's -- this *evil* stranger's -- lean, tight body. Nothing to tell her that the desire to possess all that strength she could feel bubbling beneath his pale skin...

He let his eyes roam down to her exposed cleavage before returning to her eyes once more. "I assure you, my dear... my ego is well-earned," he responded coolly.

"Mm," she grunted, and got up from her seat. Frost watched as she circled the room slowly, admiring the art on the walls and shelves throughout. Though her carriage was casual and relaxed, he could still sense the violence and power humming just beneath her glowing skin. And still no small measure of disbelief and confusion, which she tried valiantly to hide.

Deacon Frost -- the most powerful vampire on Earth -- found himself suddenly stricken with desire like nothing he had ever experienced before. The want roared through him, and much to his surprise, he felt his hands begin to tremble... his entire body stirring with a lust he hadn't felt in... well, far longer than he cared to recall.

Buffy Summers was magnificent.

"I guess that makes sense. I mean, you're King Evil, right? Like... 8000 years old or whatever?" Buffy paused and looked at him, turning her body from the waist so that the dim candlelight from the wall sconces illuminated the exposed skin of her back, arms and face with an ironically holy glow.

"You flatter me. Actually, it's closer to 800," he sighed, shifting in his chair to accommodate the sudden tightness of his clothing... his very skin, in fact.

"Whatever," she shrugged, returning to her inspection of the room. "Gotta give you credit. This place is something. If you like all that depressing Gothic crap, I mean. Angel would love it."

Frost's euphoria deflated a bit at the vampire's name. For a moment, Buffy's overwhelming presence had made him forget his true purpose in bringing her here.

"I certainly hope so," he lied, "For it will eventually be his home."

The Slayer paused in her pacing and leaned casually against the mantle of the enormous fireplace, fiddling with a statue of a winged demon perched there.

"So what *is* the plan? You lure him here with your awe-inspiring art collection?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her. Was it possible that she really *didn't* understand what was happening?

Buffy caught his expression. "If you think he's going to come after me, you obviously haven't been paying attention lately." She scowled. "He doesn't need me anymore--he's got Darla. So if I'm bait, you might as well just kill me and get it over with."

The Prelate laughed. "You're *serious*!" He got up and walked over to her. "Can you really be so blinded by your anger and jealousy?" Cutting off her attempt at an argument with a wave, he went on, drawing his hand up slowly to trace the scar at the base of her throat. "You are his *mate*, my dear..." She closed her eyes and shivered at his touch, and in the interest of self-control, Frost let his hand drop. "You bear his mark. Angelus will move mountains... swim oceans... face the Hosts of Hell and all the armies of all the demon dimensions besides to reclaim you. No... the return of his Sire hasn't changed that fundamental fact in any way. We have rather a different plan for your lover."

Buffy's jaw clenched tight. "Not to be *totally* rude, but...what the Hell are you babbling about?"

He sighed deeply -- another surprise, as he rarely bothered with the silly habit of breathing so many of his brethren seemed to favor. "Your simple naiveté is refreshing. Do you really have no idea what's going on here? What we've done to you?"

"Yes... I mean... no. I don't know!"

Frost bent slightly so that they were eye to eye. "Reach deep within yourself, Buffy. You told me earlier that you felt free, despite the fact that you were physically chained. What do you think you are free of?" He paused for a moment, but when she didn't reply, continued. "Pain? Guilt? Fear? Sadness? Existential confusion?"

He stopped and waited for his words to sink in. Something in her green eyes lit after a moment, signaling when they finally did.

"Yeah," she gasped. "That's exactly it."

Frost smiled indulgently. "No worries... no cares. No daunting sense of responsibility for the world. No regrets. No angst."

Her pretty mouth dropped open as all the pieces fell into place.

"You... you took my... soul," she whispered.

"Very good. You see, Buffy? You are far more intelligent and insightful than you give yourself credit for. I'm certain you wouldn't have survived as long as you have, otherwise."

Buffy continued to gape at him. No *soul*? How could she still be walking around and not have a soul? Shouldn't it... hurt or something?

Frost watched his new companion digest this earth-shaking news. He couldn't blame her for her incredulity, really. None of the test subjects he'd experimented on had wanted to accept it, either.

Of course, he'd cured them of their disbelief by ripping their throats out. This treasure, however, would come to no such end. He listened to her heartbeat racing... watched the emotions play across her perfect features, until finally, her eyes cleared, and she managed a smile.

"You set me free," she observed.

"Yes. I did," he confirmed, reaching up to brush her cheek. "You are far too lovely to simply kill. And your particular joie de vivre too enchanting to eliminate by turning you. I had heard that you were beautiful and charming... but I thought those stories an exaggeration... mere bluster."

The velvet timbre of his voice sent a rush of pure desire straight between her legs. His touch was... strange... but definitely not in a bad way.

Nobody but Angel had ever looked at her like that before. And she had never had these kinds of feelings... and thoughts... about another guy.

Was this what it meant to have no soul? She'd always thought it was such an ugly, horrible thing. After all, when Angel was soulless, he transformed into a creature of such pure malevolence, that it was difficult to believe that he and her lover were parts of the same whole. Angelus made Jeffrey Dahmer look sane.

But Buffy didn't feel evil... exactly. She just felt like... sort of *bad*... and didn't possess a single qualm about it.

.//Okay, so... instead of having the urge to run out and do a murder spree, I just have the urge to jump on a sexy vampire. That's not so bad, as far as sins go, right?//

She could kiss him if she wanted to. She could touch him until he moaned and let his touch set her body on fire even more than it already was. She could take what she wanted for a change... and there would *be* no consequences. Unlike her life with Angel, where even the tiniest joy had some really *huge* cost.

Sure, she could have Frost. After all... what was to stop her?

Buffy looked into his blue eyes, tilting her head upward to invite his sexy lips. "And now?"

"Now... I find that your legend is quite an understatement," he purred, and bent toward her.

"Mr. Frost, I...oops," Lindsey chuckled. "Sorry to interrupt."

Frost forced himself away and spun toward the lawyer. "Your distinct lack of decorum wears on me, Mr. McDonald. I do hope you've come with something *important* to tell me." He took a step forward, his voice dropping menacingly. "And I do mean... *important*."

"Oh, I have. Very important, as a matter of fact," he chuckled, winking at Buffy.

She rolled her eyes. Lindsey was cute, too, but... what a loser. A lawyer for a bunch of *vampires*? Scum didn't get much scummier than that.

"Then get on with it!" Frost hissed. "I have things to attend to."

Lindsey smirked knowingly at the Prelate, but obeyed. "Things are falling apart at Angel Investigations," he reported, "Word's already out on the street that the Slayer is dead. It probably won't be too long before Angel comes looking for her body... and some revenge."

The Prelate grinned, his annoyance at Lindsey's interruption evaporating in an instant. "Splendid. Then we should make ready for his arrival." He turned back to look at Buffy. "Shouldn't we, dear?"

She shrugged. More news that probably would have once sparked something in her... but not now. "Suits me. I still think you're totally deluded, if you think he'll risk his uptight butt to come after me. But... just tell me this much -- say you do manage to get him here. Just how do you think you're going to give him perfect happiness if he thinks I'm *dead*?"

Frost and Lindsey exchanged a look, and both burst into laughter. The vampire continued chuckling as he came to stand beside her once more, running a hand gently up and down her bare arm.

"Ah, Buffy... I do so already enjoy your company. First... Angel will, once the shock wears off, realize that you are *not* dead. After all, you are bound by blood as much as anything else -- he'll be able to sense that your physical body is still very much alive. And second... we raised a vampire from the depths of *Hell*... *with* a soul. We tore yours from your living body. What makes you think we need to depend on that flimsy gypsy curse to free Angelus from his prison?"

Buffy wasn't really listening to what he was saying anymore... all she wanted do was watch his lips move. She couldn't stop taking in his details... his boyish features... his perfect, white teeth...his sharp blue eyes... the cocky way he held his lean body. He was too close for her to think straight, and she was full of too many things... enthralling, foreign things that she found herself suddenly eager to experience.

When was the last time she got this close to a hot guy who wasn't Angel?

She laid a hand on the Prelate's silk-clad chest. "You know what, Deac?"

He inhaled her scent deeply and combed a hand through her soft hair, "What, my sweet?"

"Forget I asked. I really don't give a shit about Angel," she whispered, and darted her tongue out to lick his lips.

Buffy figured she had spent enough of her life being a good girl... she had a lot of catching up to do. No more wasting time on sacred duties or vampires-with-souls.

Now, it was finally time to have some fun.

***

Between the eerie silence that enveloped the Hyperion's lobby and the dull echo of Willow's weeping in the background as he spoke to Giles, Wesley could barely concentrate.

"We must take every precaution to protect Angel's soul at this juncture," he said sadly, hoping beyond hope that despite the silence around him, that Angel was too preoccupied to hear his conversation.

"The wards I faxed you should protect the hotel from magical attack," the elder Englishman replied. "But if he chooses to leave..."

"Yes," Wesley agreed. "I'm afraid that there won't be much we can do in that instance, but be prepared at a moment's notice to re-curse him."

"We're ready," Giles confirmed. "Or at least... Tara and I are. I don't believe that... Willow is in any condition to cast."

For a moment, both men were silent... the only sounds the ticking of the grandfather clock behind Wesley, and the Witch's continued weeping.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Giles," he offered.

His colleague paused for a moment before he responded. "As am I. But there will be time for mourning later. Now we must focus on the matter at hand."

Wesley greatly admired the elder man's dedication... his ability to remain clear-headed in the face of what was a devastating blow to any Watcher -- the loss of his Slayer. But considering the familial relationship between Buffy and her mentor, there was no doubt in his mind that Giles' pain ran doubly deep. And thus, so did his admiration for him.

"Indeed," he agreed, forcing a business-like tone despite his own sorrow. Over the past few months since Buffy had been living in Los Angeles, he felt as though they had finally gotten beyond the bad feelings of their past, and become friends. And there could be no doubt what she meant to Angel. Her loss would leave wounds in all of them that might never fully heal. "I regret to say that I believe Angel will move as soon as possible against the Sanguinati. He'll want to retrieve..." he swallowed stiffly, barely able to choke out the words, "Buffy's remains. I don't... I'm not sure how we will protect him, then."

Giles sighed. "I don't imagine there'll be any dissuading him from taking his revenge, whatever the cost."

"No," Wesley mumbled, glancing out at his friend, who sat, scowling darkly, sharpening his sword in the lobby. "I don't believe there will."

"We've contacted the Sierra Ridge compound. The Grandmother had gone on a brief meditative retreat in the mountains, but Oz assures me they should be able to get her back within a few hours. I'll let you know when we're all on our way."

The younger man nodded absently. "Yes. Good. Emma is sorely needed here."

He turned away from Angel once more, and nearly jumped out of his skin to find Darla standing behind him. "Christ!" he yelped.

"I'm sorry to startle you, Mr. Pryce," the blonde vampire said softly, "But I believe that I have some information that will change your view of this situation somewhat."

He stared at her for a moment and wondered -- could anything she said be trusted? How could they be certain that she wasn't the cause of all this? Why would she want to help?

But then he thought... did it matter, at this point? Why not hear her out and determine the worth of the information after?

"All right," he replied reluctantly, "Mr. Giles, something has come up here. Do let me know when you expect to arrive in Los Angeles."

Darla shook her head. "He'll want to hear this as well. It involves his Slayer."

Wes' eyebrows shot up. "Oh?"

"Wesley...what's the matter?" Giles asked.

"I'm going to put you on speakerphone, Giles. Darla says that she has some information regarding Buffy." He pushed the speaker button and laid the receiver in the cradle before turning to look at her once more. "Are you there?"

"I'm here," he replied. "What is it?"

Angel suddenly appeared in the doorway. Wesley mentally cursed the vampire's preternatural hearing as he turned his sad, tired eyes to his Sire.

She took a deep breath and held his gaze, as if this message were meant only for him. "Buffy is not dead. Or at least... her body isn't."

Wesley wouldn't have imagined such a thing was possible, but Angel's already miserable expression darkened still further.

"What do you mean?" Giles' tinny voice called out, "What are you talking about?"

The elder vampire kept her gaze squarely on her Childe. "As you know, there is a strong blood bond between closely related vampires -- most especially between Sire and Chillde. It would appear that a similar bond exists between Angel and Buffy... I imagine, as a result of their... bonding ritual. I've noticed that through my tie to him, I'm able to vaguely sense her. When one part of a Sire/Childe bond is destroyed, there is a disturbance... a perceptible sensation of severing, and loss. A...sudden absence, for lack of a better term." She finally forced her eyes away from Angel and looked down at the phone. "I've been concentrating on it since Angel's return... and there's no such absence of Buffy within the blood bond. Her body isn't dead."

Wesley's gaze shot to Angel. "Did you... know about this?"

"Yes," the dark-haired vampire replied flatly. "I did."

"Good God, man!" Giles shouted, "Then why the Hell did you let us believe she was *dead*?"

Angel stared at the floor.

"Because if her body lives, and yet possesses no soul," Darla replied for him, "Then I'm afraid that she must be... other than dead."

Wesley gaped at the two vampires. "Other than... are you saying that she's..."

"A vampire," Angel concluded without looking up. "That's the only way I could have felt her soul pass while her physical body is still on this plane."

"Oh, dear Lord," Giles moaned.

Doyle and Cordelia chose that moment to return from the Hyperion's library. They looked around at the varied expressions of shock and pain in the room.

"Oh, God," Cordy groaned, "Is somebody else dead?"

"Angel and Darla believe that Buffy has been... turned," Wesley informed them.

"What? No!" Doyle exclaimed, "That can't be! Isn't there some kind of cosmic law against that or somethin'?"

"Of a sort, yes," Giles replied, his voice strained. "Theoretically, the Slayer's unique genetic make up should make it impossible. But no one has ever tested that theory, that I'm aware of. Angel... are you certain?"

Angel nodded. "I've been trying to find some other explanation, but..." he shook his head and turned away, shuffling stiffly out of the office. "There isn't one. I... we... just have to accept that. Get the others together. We need to be ready to move before sunrise. Have Gunn bring as many of his men as he can spare."

"Wait, 'move'?" Cordy yelped, "What do you mean, 'move'?"

Her friend stopped just outside the doorway, but didn't turn around. "We'll need to destroy her before she rises," he replied, his voice utterly devoid of emotion. "Wake Korin. She'll have to guide us to the compound herself," he concluded, strode across the lobby, and walked out the rear doors without another word or look back.

The remaining people present exchanged agonized looks, except Darla, who quickly followed her Childe out onto the veranda.

"We'll leave immediately," Giles told him. "Try to keep Angel there until we or Old Emma arrive. We can't allow him to act until we're certain about this."

"Yes," Wesley agreed weakly, staring out at the patio doors. "We'll try."


	16. Essence

The ritual gave Angel an eerie sense of deja vu, despite the fact that he had never actually been present when it was performed on his behalf. The change in the air pressure was tangible, growing heavier, pressing down hard on his chest as Emma, Oz, Tara and Willow called Buffy's unanchored soul to them. The way the air hummed with power, and choked with thick incense smoke, set off instinctual alarms within him... warnings of pain to come.

Only this time, the pain wouldn't be his.

He sat in the outer circle with the rest of their family, both the Sunnydale and LA branches, reciting the Ohm silently to himself to stave off what felt distinctly like a panic attack, clutching Cordelia's hand on one side, and Faith's on the other, for dear life.

As the chanting rose in pitch, Grandmother began calling out loudly in old Romanian, and the crackle of magick grew. The sensations sent his consciousness hurtling into flashbacks... the darkness of the Romanian woods, and the angry face of the Gypsy king, glaring down at him. The dusty floor of the Crawford Street mansion... the vision of Buffy standing over him, her sword swung back for a beheading blow like some vengeful goddess...

But before he could be fully lost in the agony of those memories, or his fear could truly take hold, the sound of a sharp gasp from Willow drew his mind abruptly back to the present.

In the center of their smaller circle sat a raw crystal the color of clean ocean water, roughly the size of his fist. Like an orb of Thessula, it was created to contain spirits called back from the aether... but this time, of human beings. Emma had explained that the crystal was grown by her people to summon the soul of murdered Gypsies, to allow them to inform the elders who had perpetrated the crime against them. In theory, that rock, in combination with the slightly modified restoration spell used on him, should allow them to restore Buffy's soul.

Assuming that they could reclaim her living body, that is.

The ritual was supposed to take several hours. Everyone present had eaten, drank, and used the bathroom in preparation for a sitting-in that Oz and Emma said would take most of the night. The journey from the netherworld was long and arduous, and took a great deal of will on the departed soul's part to travel.

But they had been chanting for less than five minutes, and already the crystal was glowing the bright, clear blue that Emma said would signal the arrival of the Slayer' s essence.

"Huh," Oz commented, tugging at his fuzzy beard. Willow just stared, open-mouthed, clutching the werewolf's hand.

Tara glanced at Emma. "Th-that's not supposed to happen... yet."

The old Gypsy woman unfolded her legs and reached forward to take the glowing crystal in her hand, then rose to her feet. She closed her eyes for a few moments, cocking her head as if to listen to it speak. When she opened them again, her wizened face split in a broad smile, and she looked directly at Angel.

"Come here, child," she commanded softly.

If he'd had a living heart, it would have been pounding furiously. As it was, he forgot all about breathing as he got up from the outer circle and stood in the empty place Oz cleared for him beside Emma.

The were-cat held the glowing crystal toward him.

"The ritual is unnecessary. Her spirit was already here," she informed him.

Angel stared at the crystal. Its colors shifted and morphed... the shining honey color of her hair, and then the sparkling green-blue of her eyes. All the colors of the rainbow swirled like a gentle storm inside the smooth facets of the stone.

He glanced up at the Grandmother, his eyes flooding with tears.

"She's. in there?" he asked, so softly that the others barely heard him.

Emma nodded, offering the object to him once more.

"Feel for yourself," she urged.

Angel reached out with trembling hands to take the crystal. The moment he touched it, its glowing energy immediately enveloped his hands, spreading like wildfire until his entire body was surrounded by its light.

"Mothera Christ," Doyle gasped in awe.

Angel closed his eyes, uncaring that the tears he had been fighting so fiercely were now coursing down his cheeks. He let his consciousness drift deeply inward to the place from where his and Buffy's bond sprang.

There he found what he had been so certain was lost forever. He felt her essence filling him... her love, her fire, her indomitable spirit flowing through him like warm water, healing bruises and cracks that his mourning had opened. The peace that he had only found when their spirits met wordlessly like this took him, soothing his own tired, angry soul.

They didn't speak. This was a communication that defied words... and still, he could hear her and speak to her, their essences singing softly together of abiding love, deep understanding, apologies and forgiveness... promises both old and new that could never be destroyed.

She was here with him. At least, that eternal stuff that made her his beloved was. He knew from her spirit's song that she couldn't leave him, not as long as she had the will to stay. She whispered her faith in him. Her certainty that he would save her. and most of all, her desire to be with him fully again.

Angel let it all rush through him, crushing the stone to his still chest. He wept openly, falling to his knees, oblivious to his friends and hers gently closing ranks around him to offer their silent comfort and support.

Darla stood in the back doorway, watching the scene unfold. The way Angel glowed with the effervescence of his lover's soul joining with his own, and how that energy gradually snaked outward like arms of light to envelop the large group, as if in one mystical embrace...

She was certain that it was safe to say she had never seen anything quite so awe-inspiring in all of her days.

Was this it? Was what she bore witness to what it meant to have a soul? All these disparate people pulled together and bound by that magnificent, heart-breaking light? Even Spike, who remained slightly away from the others, was engulfed by it. How was such a thing possible? How could this kind of connection exist between creatures that were natural enemies?

//Like the lion lying down among lambs.//

She reached up to wipe her eyes, and came away with tears on her fingertips. She stared at the sparkling drops and wondered if she had really shed them for the union of her own mate and a woman she despised.

No! Absolutely not! She *hated* that little bitch, and could be nothing but *ecstatic* that she was gone for good!

Darla glanced out at Angel and the others once more, filled with equal measure of sorrow for her Childe's pain, and disgust for the weakness in all these soft-hearted creatures. She hurried out onto the veranda, where the only sensations were those of the night... the soft song of crickets, the silver sparkle of stars, and the caress of the cool summer breeze. Her universe. Her reality.

If what she had seen in there was what it meant to have a soul... she wanted no part of it.

Perhaps it was time to consider seeking out Deacon Frost after all...

***

Buffy popped another piece of Toblerone into her mouth, and shot a glare at the minion who rushed into Frost's bedroom, holding out a giant McDonald's bag and averting his gaze.

"It's about time," she complained, jumping up from the bed and snatching the bag out of the chagrined vampire's hands. "What, did you have to kill the cow yourself?"

"No, uh... ma'am, I'm, uh... I..." the vamp sputtered.

"Whatever," Buffy interrupted with a curt wave of her hand. She glanced into the bag, and then back at the vampire again. "Didn't I ask for a large diet?"

Without looking up again, the demon held out a cup. Buffy grabbed it and jumped back onto the huge, curtained bed.

"Take a hike," she ordered, and with a deep bow, the vampire skittered out. The Slayer reclined back on the mountain of pillows with a sigh, and tossed two McNuggets into her mouth. "You know, I gotta tell ya, there's definitely something to be said for lackeys. Better than Xander for snack runs."

Frost looked up from his writing. "You're going to get fat if you keep eating so much."

She shot him a glare. "Hey. How about *I* worry about my figure, and *you* worry about taking over the world, okay?"

She chewed furiously, relishing the sensation of her teeth ripping into flesh - even if it was deep-fried chicken by-products. At least it was almost like *killing* something, which was definitely what she felt like doing right now.

Buffy frowned to herself as she ate. Something was off... something she could feel in her blood that, no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't seem to put words to. For the past 24 hours, she'd been so busy focusing on her newfound freedom, she hadn't paid attention to barely formed thoughts and sensations that were niggling right at the edge of her mind. But now that she was more used to the stillness inside her, those cell-deep feelings suddenly started asserting themselves more fiercely.

Something was missing. Something important. More important, even, than her soul. She wracked her brain as she wolfed down her bag-o-lard, struggling to figure out what that something was.

She didn't think she should be feeling. kind of... incomplete, should she? Shouldn't being soulless kill that sort of thing? She had everything she could possibly want - freedom to do whatever, whenever. No responsibilities, no cares, nobody to answer to. She wasn't forgetting to do anything... there was nowhere she had to be... so why was she so certain she was forgetting something *really* important? Why was she so off balance?

The only answer that came to her was the one she least wanted to be true.

She was missing Angel.

No. No WAY! All that hearts and flowers crap had gone the way of her soul! She was free of *him*, too - of all the pain and struggle of their past... all the terrifying portents of their future. He was dead weight that she had shed right along with all the other heavy burdens of her formerly miserable life.

Wasn't he?

Of course he was! This creeping sensation under her skin had nothing to do with missing him. The itch in her hands, the ache down deep in her womb, had nothing to do with wanting him still.

Habit. She was just suffering withdrawals from really old, really ingrained habits, that was all... like cigarettes. And it was probably only lust anyway... didn't need a soul for that.

Okay... so... lust was something she could definitely handle... as long as it was nothing more than that. Which, of course, it couldn't be, because she couldn't *love* without a soul, and she no longer *had* a soul, so...

Buffy tossed the empty McNuggets box to the floor and pulled out the first of four Big Macs in the bag.

Why was she so *hungry* lately?

"So, Deac. about the master plan - no pun intended." she mumbled, her mouth full of meat.

Frost once again glanced up from his desk, grimacing in distaste at her display. "What about it?"

She swallowed before asking her question. "You're gonna whammy Angel the way you did me, right?"

The vampire frowned. "Right."

She nodded. "So. Angelus will be hanging around, right?"

His expression darkened further. "Yes, I imagine so," he growled, "Why?"

Buffy shrugged nonchalantly. "Just wondering."

Well, that was that, then. If she was itching with unsated lust for Angel's bod (missing his hands. his lips. his.heh -- other parts...) then Angelus would do just fine - better than fine, in fact - to scratch that itch.

Yeah. Having a soulless-Angel around would be a *lot* of fun. All the pros, and none of the cons. Woo and hoo.

Thinking that immediately eased some of her strange discomfort. It made sense - she and Angel were bonded by blood, too, like Frost had explained to her. Of *course* her very bones would still be screaming for him. She was suffering Angel-sex withdrawl... and poor Deac just wasn't cuttin' it as back-up stud.

She grinned as she let memories of her one deliciously vicious, violent coupling with Angelus almost a year ago fill her head. the way he'd gouged her with talons and fangs. snarled and growled at her... took her hard and fast, like the animal he was. She could practically feel the temperature in the room kick up a notch just from her remembering.

//Oh yeah. Big fun.//

But before Buffy could get too lost in her lusty daydream, she was suddenly hit by a wave of nausea, like a punch square in the gut. She covered her face with her hands and groaned softly, trying not to puke up all the food she'd just stuffed in her face.

The Prelate rose from his seat. "Buffy? Are you all right?"

She shook her head, unable to speak due to the shivering sensation that rocked her body, falling to her side and curling up into a fetal ball, and let out a pathetic whine.

Frost rushed over and sat down beside her, uncertain what to do. "What's wrong?"

"Mad... cow disease?" she whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut tightly.

He frowned at her writhing form for a moment, then reached for the phone on the night table.

"Send in Mr. Aphashta. I don't *care* if he's in meditation! I want the sorcerer here, NOW!"

Not five minutes later, the High Priest who had initially conducted the casting on Buffy hurried into the Prelate's chamber. He examined the Slayer carefully and chanted a few words over her. When she was finally quiet and still, he took Frost aside.

"Master... it would appear that The Aurelius has already begun attempting to restore the Slayer's soul."

Frost relaxed visibly. "Oh, is that all?" He chuckled with relief and sat beside Buffy on the bed once more. She shifted to curl up against him, and he gently petted her hair.

"Deac?" she whispered.

"Yes, my sweet?"

"I'm... full of bugs," she cried pitifully, "It itches."

"It will pass." He turned back to the sorcerer, who continued watching from the foot of the bed. "You may return to your meditation."

Aphashta fidgeted. "Sire, I mean no offense. But we should remove her to the temple proper, where she can be shielded against further attack."

The Prelates' expression darkened. "You told me that the Gypsy's restoration magick could not be effective from such a distance."

The magickian shook in spite of his best efforts to stay cool. "I don't believe that it can be, Master Frost, but."

Frost rose from the bed and stalked toward the terrified demon. "But what, Mr. Aphashta? You assured me upon examination of the annals that Angelus would have to cast *within* our wards to even make a valid *attempt* at restoration. Are you now telling me that was a *lie*?"

"N-no, Sire! They cannot effect the restoration at such a distance. The soul would, at the very least, need to be close to the body, and. URK!"

The elder vampire cut off the sorcerer's rambling excuse with a crushing grip around his throat.

"Then *what* is the *matter* with her?" he hissed, shifting to game face.

The Sorcerer started at the sight. Frost didn't have the demonic features of the great majority of vampires. Instead, his irises turned an even sharper pale blue, and his canines extended, but otherwise, his countenance remained human.

A truly frightening reminder of the power the eldest vampires possessed.

"Sire! I... she must be... feeling the... attempts the Aurelius... makes! I... simply thought it safer to have her in... the temple!" Aphashta choked.

Frost tossed the much larger vampire unceremoniously away, forcing himself back under control. Certainly killing his lead magickian would do Buffy no good.

"No. I want her to be comfortable. She is not a prisoner -- she is my guest," he commanded, calm once more. "Call your acolytes here and consecrate this room... the Great Hall and the Dining Hall as well. Cast the same wards as used on the temple."

The sorcerer stared dumbly at him, rubbing his neck.

"Are you deaf as well as stupid?" Frost barked, "GO!"

Once Aphashta scampered from the room, the Prelate returned to Buffy's side. She had stopped shivering, and now simply lay limp on her side, staring into nothing with frightened eyes.

"It's all right, my lamb. You're safe," the vampire assured her, sifting his fingers through her soft hair.

"Angel," she whimpered, pressing herself tightly against Frost as if seeking some body warmth that he didn't possess. He scowled. Her motion seemed habitual, as if she did it all the time when she was upset. He wondered -- did Angelus keep her warm? Did his soul give him some fire that he could share with her? Was her body somehow starving without its mate?

Ridiculous. He shook the thought away.

"Please," she whispered, "I don't want to go back."

"Don't worry, sweet. Try as they might, they can't restore your soul," he promised.

Buffy sat up slowly and took a long, cleansing breath. "I can't go back to that. Everything's so hard and heavy. I won't do it." She was quiet for a moment, then brightened somewhat. "I'm having *fun* for a change, and all he wants to do is ruin it -- as usual. I wish we could just desoul him already and get it over with. Believe me, if I had known being evil was this much fun, I would have switched sides a long time ago. And brought Angel with me. "

With that, the Slayer reached over the side of the bed and reclaimed the McDonalds bag, pulling out another Big Mac and quickly wolfing it down.

Frost was rather stunned by her resilience -- like so many things about her. And her ignorance of the very creatures that she was born to do battle with was rather charming, as well. As the bound mate of one of the most viciously malevolent immortals who ever walked the planet, he would have thought she'd know better.

He chose to simply disregard her sudden insistence upon talking about Angelus.

"You're hardly evil, my dear. You're simply soulless. There is a difference, you know," he informed her.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "How do you figure?"

He rose from the bed and wandered back to his desk. "Evil is not inherent, Buffy. It's a talent... an art form. Every creature with sentience is born with the *capability* to do evil... but to *be* evil is a skill that requires time and practice. Souls -- or rather, the lack thereof -- only make developing that potential easier. Certainly you know that having a soul does not necessarily guarantee goodness. The reverse is also true."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. One way or the other, I'm *so* not going back to being *that* Buffy again, souled or not."

Frost retook his seat and smiled at her. "No one is saying that you must."

Her expression turned serious once more. "You're *sure* their magick won't work? I mean... the Gypsies stuffed a soul into Angleus... *twice*. And he's ten times the badass that I am."

He chuckled. "I doubt that, my dear. Stop fretting. It won't work. It *can't*. But as long as Angel thinks that it will, that's all we need be concerned about. His hope in the effectiveness of that spell will drive him here... and then we will all get what we want."

Buffy gazed thoughtfully into space. "I guess it wouldn't be *so* bad to have Angel around. He is sorta hot without a soul." She realized what she'd said, and added, "For a psycho, I mean."

"Yes, leather pants, I know," Frost teased without enthusiasm, getting up once more and heading back toward the bed. Buffy was like a magnet, and he, iron. Or, perhaps... she was the deadly flame, and he a helpless moth. Right now, he knew, but didn't much care if he might be placing himself in peril because he was knocked senseless by the vivacious little spitfire with whom he shared his bed. Right now all he cared about was wiping thoughts of Angelus in leather pants out of her pretty little head before the disrespectful whelp ever set one foot in the compound.

"Fear not, little one," he purred as he sat close to her, tracking a feathersoft fingertip down the line of her throat, and around the "Great General's" mark. "We'll have eternity to play with Angelus, if that is your wish. But for the time being...you are all mine." He punctuated his statement with a deep, probing kiss, and thrilled at the sound of her moan as his hands wandered over her breasts.

Frost had no doubt that by the time Angelus arrived, he would find that his mate wasn't quite so enamoured with him anymore.

Then the fun would really begin.


	17. Visions and Butterflies

For a second, Faith thought she was back in the Initiative's underground headquarters, because the room she found herself in was such a pure, blinding white that it hurt to open her eyes all the way.

But she managed. And when she did, the first thing she saw was some kind of a big, fuzzy cat skittering by her, sliding on the smooth floor as it ran. She blinked at it, and blinked again when Buffy came following close behind, bent over and reaching out with both hands, her brow furrowed in concentration as she chased after it.

"I have to catch her," the blonde informed her sister Slayer without slowing her pursuit. "Before she flies away."

Faith frowned. What the Hell was this weird shit? She checked Buffy out as the elder woman ran around after the cub... she wore skin tight white jeans and a strappy tank top that matched the empty room all around them.

"Nice threads," she commented.

"Thanks," Buffy replied, and pounced on the cat. "I guess it's sort of standard issue around here."

Faith looked down at her own outfit, a white sundress... definitely something more like what the Mayor might have picked out for her, which made her twice as uncomfortable about all of this.

She looked up again, and to her further shock, Buffy and the cub disappeared, only to reappear in a blink. With her bundle in her arms, the primary Slayer returned to where Faith sat on the floor, and sank down next to her. The big kitten wriggled fiercely in her arms.

"I'm trying to hold on," Buffy told her, "But she's really wiggly."

"Oh," Faith replied, and reached out to scratch the cat's ear. "Snow leopard?"

"Butterfly in a lioness coat. Sort of."

The brunette frowned even harder. "Huh?"

"Never mind. Listen. She's not declawed, so she keeps trying to get away. She won't sit still for long, and... it's hard to hold her. I'm trying, but... I'm so tired," Buffy said with a deep sigh.

Faith chewed her lip in confusion. "Ohhhkayyy. So... are we dead?" She looked around the pristine room. "Is this like, Slayer Heaven? Because I gotta tell ya, I was thinking it'd be a lot more fun. You know... naked lifeguards... music... free food..."

The elder woman shrugged. "Beats me. I mostly just know about the butterfly."

"Great," Faith complained, then perked up when something dawned on her. "Hey, wait. This is one of those shared dream things, right? You have something important to tell me. So... what's up?" She tucked her arms around her knees and waited for her sister to impart her wisdom. "I figure you owe me for the tip I gave you about the Mayor."

"You want wisdom?" Buffy asked, shooting a disapproving frown at the cub, who had wiggled three quarters of the way out of her grasp once more.

"Yeah, I want wisdom," Faith confirmed. "Something big. And juicy... like... about me and Spike."

The blonde grimaced. "Okay, one: ew with the big, juicy Spike imagery. And two: you don't get to choose what I tell you. You just get to decide what to do with it."

"Fine," the secondary Slayer sighed, "Just impart already. I'm about to wake up."

"Okay," Buffy told her, leaning closer, shifting the cub in her arms. "Don't eat pickles with chocolate milk."

Faith stared at her. "Are you serious? I was looking for something a little more helpful than that."

The cub finally made its escape, and scuttled across the room. Buffy shook her head. "Picky picky. Okay, how's this? They're going to want to kill her. You can't let them. I mean, yeah, she's dangerous. She'll rip you apart and dance on your bits and pieces, if you give her a chance. But all you have to do is slip the butterfly back into her skin, and she'll be good as new."

"Is that better or worse than the pickle thing?" Faith complained.

"It's important," Buffy insisted, grabbing her sister's hand. "You have to tell them. Please. Tell them they already know how. They just can't see it because of the pain. You have to help them. Remember... there's one who's already declawed. He can carry the butterfly without ripping her wings. He won't want to, but you have to make him. Make sure they know."

The younger woman's head was starting to hurt from all this vagueness. "Sure. Okay." She got to her feet. "You know, you could give Lorne or the Oracles a run for their money with the cryptic."

Buffy's responding smile was so bright, Faith had to shade her eyes. "I studied at the feet of the master."

"Okay. Butterflies. Don't kill the lioness. Make the declawed guy carry the butterfly. Got it." She began to turn and head toward the purple barn door off in the distance, but stopped and looked back once more. Buffy was down in a crouch, sitting on the cat, which was now almost fully grown. "Wait. Who do I tell?"

"Him. Tell him," Buffy replied sadly, "And hurry. I don't know how much longer I can keep her here."

The brunette started to resume her march, until she heard the elder woman call, "Faith?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell him... 'Is duine a ghra thusa, ionuin. Tuigim is... ta bron orm.' Please. Tell him. And turn off the light on your way out, okay? Maybe she'll go to sleep."

Faith woke with a start to find red-rimmed, grey eyes staring woefully down at her.

"Are those tears I see, Sparky?" she mumbled groggily.

Spike scowled and sat up, but didn't let go of her hand. "No! Just got that bloody magick smoke in my eye, is all." His consternated look immediately softened. "You okay, Slayer? You been out for a good while."

"Yeah, I'm okay," she reassured him, forcing her aching lungs to take in long, deep gulps of air.

The vampire leaned toward her once more, and this time, she was *sure* she saw tears. He brushed a stray hair out of her face and kissed her gently before pulling away enough to look in her eyes again.

"Thought I lost you," he mumbled. "You weren't breathing, and... I couldn't help. Didn't like that feeling one damn bit. So don't do it again, okay?"

Faith smiled tenderly and reached up to touch his sculpted cheekbone. "Okay. But... you're freaking me out with the mush thing."

He backed off, his expression instantly morphing back to its trademark snarky disinterest. "Jus' didn't want you to think I tried to off you, that's all."

She struggled to sit up. "It's cool. I've woken up in worse condition. Damn..." She rubbed her aching head. "Did you rip the guy's throat out that dropped that Mack truck on me?" In a flash, bits of her dream began to materialize in her memory. "Shit. Where's B?"

Any small shadow of amusement and relief that had remained on her lover's face vanished. He looked so upset, she almost expected to see fang.

"The vamps we were fighting took her," he growled, "The others think she's dead."

Faith stared at him. "No. She's not. She can't be." With a rush of energy she didn't know she had left, she jumped out of the bed, and grabbed clean clothes from her bag on the chair near the door. "I had one of those mutual Slayer consciousness dream things Giles is always babbling about. Something weird happened to B, but... she's not dead."

She got dressed in seconds flat, and Spike had to hurry to keep up with her as she sprinted out of their room and down the hall.

"Hold up, there, Pet! What the Hell's going on?" he barked at her retreating back.

The Slayer glanced at him over her shoulder. "We have to talk to Angel... now! We have to stop him from killing her!"

***

Delightful.

Frost had met -- and had -- countless women in his long life. Several Slayers among them. Like many young vampires, he'd had a certain morbid fascination with the Sisterhood, and could count close to a dozen of them among his kills.

Of course, that was when he hunted for sport, and the notches in the "dead" column were valuable for their raw numbers, rather than the craft or utility of each individual end by his hand.

But this Slayer was something quite different altogether. After their long, luxurious tryst with McDonald in the conference room at the compound, she had gotten up, dressed, and announced that she was bored, demanding that he take her dancing. Even Lindsey had looked surprised at her commanding tone, and the casual way she swept out of the room, as though she had no doubt that she would be obeyed.

And now here he was, dancing in a Los Angeles nightclub with Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

He had to admit, the more time he spent with her, the more thoroughly enchanted he found himself. Not only was she witty and clever, passionate and enthusiastic as a lover, and a downright nasty little wench, but she possessed a certain... energy that he found irresistible.

Watching her move was almost as purely sexual as their earlier activities. For one so young, Buffy was thoroughly comfortable in her body... and used that fact to her distinct advantage. The way she writhed and swayed to the rhythm as though she was making love to the music itself brought vivid sensory memories of her body to unnerving life in his mind... keeping him in a constant state of arousal that was rather like being a young human again.

Frankly, if Angelus walked into the club at that moment, Frost would have been tempted to give the bastard a big kiss before he chopped his head off. For, if he hadn't spent 200 years planning this careful revenge scenario, he might never have met Buffy at all.

He chuckled to himself. The child hadn't been in his presence for twelve hours yet and already he was smitten like a schoolboy.

When the song finally ended, the Slayer took his hand and led him from the dance floor, back to their VIP table on the first balcony, where she plopped down into one of the plush seats with a sigh.

"Man, I'm beat!" she declared, and sucked down her waiting glass of champagne in a couple of gulps. "You know, getting your soul ripped out really takes a lot out of you. And I think I'm a little out of shape, too. Angel *never* takes me dancing."

Frost smiled as he took his own seat. "What a shame. I think true beauty and grace should be displayed for all the world to enjoy," he told her, taking her hand and softly brushing her knuckles to his lips. Her skin was warm and sweet... rather like his memory of candy, and he couldn't seem to taste it enough.

Her responding grin was far more brilliant that all the flashing lights in the club. "I *totally* agree. And I plan on going out *every* night from now on. Hope you can keep up."

He chuckled. "I'm fairly certain I'll manage. My Order owns this place... and a dozen more like it in cities all over the world. London, Milan, Aruba, Paris, Moscow, New York... I spend a lot of time in nightclubs, when I'm able. I enjoy the atmosphere."

Buffy gave him a knowing smirk. "Probably good hunting grounds, huh?"

Frost nodded. "Exactly. It's a bit like one of those lobster tanks in a restaurant."

His companion laughed. "I thought you Council vamps were into those fairy things for food?"

The Prelate grimaced in distaste. "Most are. They consider themselves above the hunt, and avoid humans whenever they can."

She rolled her eyes. "Isn't that against the bloodsucker code or something?"

"They're old... inside and out. The centuries have made them soft and lazy. Hence the fact that they are a rapidly dying breed," he replied, his contempt clear in his voice.

Buffy leaned her head on her hand. "What makes you so different? You're supposed to be the CEO of Vampires, Inc. Or whatever..."

"I like to look to the future. Keep up with the changing times." His gaze wandered out to the throngs of gyrating bodies... the flicker of the lights. Felt the pounding beat of the music echo in his still chest. "The world is an amazing place, Buffy. I believe that my eternity should take full advantage of that fact." He smiled at her once more. "I got where I am today by thinking ahead. Seeing beyond the ridiculous strictures of law and tradition, while still using those as the foundation of my power. Those demons under me rely on the rules for their very existence... let the law tell them what to think, how to feel and behave. They've forgotten what it truly means to be a vampire. I, however, have not. So, yes, I do still enjoy the hunt. The hunt is life... for every creature. Certainly you, of all people, must understand that."

She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I mean... as it turns out, I sort of *like* my job. The chase, like you said. That cool whooshing noise you guys make when you dust." The Slayer poured herself another glass of champagne and glanced slyly at him over the rim. "It's fun to be at the top of the food chain."

He laughed once again. "That it is, my dear. If you decide to remain with us, I'm certain we can find a constructive outlet for your homicidal tendencies."

Buffy's face lit up. "Ooh! Like an enforcer or something? I crack skulls, and you take names?"

"Something like that," he chuckled. "But... let's not lose focus on the more immediate problem. Before we set out to strike terror into the hearts of rogue demons everywhere, we have to put your mate in his place, first."

The Slayer's joyful expression collapsed into a petulant frown. "What'd you have to go and bring him into it for? I was having fun. And he's *not* my mate, so stop calling him that!"

Frost cocked an eyebrow at her obvious agitation. "My, my. It would seem that you harbor a bit of hostility toward Angelus."

"Not Angelus," she growled, "*Angel*. He's been tying me down, making my life miserable, for years now. Like the father I never had... and never *wanted.* At this point, I'd rather deal with Angelus. At least he knows how to have *fun*."

The Prelate smiled coldly. "Well, if all goes according to plan -- and it will -- in a few short days, you'll have your wish."

Buffy thought about that for a few moments, and then her grin returned. "Cool. But... can I kill Darla? I hate that bitch."

Frost patted her hand indulgently. "All in good time, Buffy. All in good time."

***

Angel couldn't force himself to concentrate on the conversation going on around him, thanks to the cacophony raging in his mind.

His mate... his best friend... the light of his life and the very foundation of his existence, was walking around Gods knew where, without a soul. It was bad enough to imagine that she was dead, or a vampire, but this, somehow, was far worse. A human being without human essence? The idea was inconceivable. What kind of a monster would circumstances like that create? How would the world ever survive the terror of the most powerful of its mortals existing with absolutely no conscience, no morality?

But the question that continued to rip through his heart like a blade was a far more selfish one -- how would *he* survive it? The loss of her was a gaping maw at the center of his being. His very soul wept, screaming her name over and over again, and the only things that kept him from collapsing with the weight of his grief were the small hope that Giles, Wesley, Willow, and the Grandmother would manage to modify the original curse used on him to restore Buffy...

And the deep, demented rage that continued to consume him. Even if the others managed to get her back, whole and alive... Frost was going to die. And not by a stake through his black heart, either. Oh, no. Angel fully intended to put 150 years of experience in psychological terrorism and physical torture to make the Prelate pay for what he had done to his beloved.

Angel might normally have shoved such thoughts and urges away... fought the memories that continued to surface... of dismemberment... disembowelment... dripping holy water and brushing crosses. Resisted knowledge of the rack... thumbscrews... cat claws. But not now. Now, he poured as much of his consciousness as he could manage into such thoughts, and planning Deacon Frost's slow and agonizing execution.

Imagining his revenge was the only thing that kept him from falling apart completely.

His Buffy... the great love of his life... an empty shell with no substance. Frost had stolen from her the very essence of who she was... everything that made her so uniquely beautiful. Turned her into a gruesome golum, animated by nothing but animal instinct... base desire. There was a creature out there... a monster... a murderous fiend... wearing his lover's face.

The irony of that fact was just another wound among hundreds that had torn open inside of him. Thinking about how painfully he and Buffy had now switched roles was greatly overshadowed the heart-wrenching guilt that not only had what happened to his mate been meant to destroy him, and that he had failed in his sworn duty to protect her at any cost...

But that the last vision she had of him was of him kissing his Sire. The last words they had exchanged were angry and hurtful. Her spirit had left her body thinking that he betrayed her.

He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw tight against that pain, forcing his focus back to razorblades and steel-tipped horsewhips... the best way to sever all the limbs from a vampire's body without allowing it to turn to dust.

The low drone of his friends commiserating in the office nearby went on, but he was too busy struggling against the voices screaming in his head to listen. His heart's mourning keen... the phantom echo of Buffy's voice accusing him... long-forgotten tones of his father calling him a failure... a liar... a waste... his Sire softly calling his name...

Wait. That was real. He forced his attention outward once more.

"Angelus..."

"Stop calling me that!" he spat, "It's not my name." He caught his own tone and realized how close to the surface his rage really was. "Sorry."

Darla sat down beside him with a weary sigh. "No need. I imagine I would feel the same if something happened to... someone I cared about. Besides, you're right. Your new moniker suits you far better than the one I gave you. No one speaks Latin anymore anyhow."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his vision, uncertain if she was mocking him, or if she was just really bad at showing compassion. One way or the other, he just couldn't find the will to care.

Funny... a few days ago, his Sire's well being figured more highly in his thoughts than almost anything else. But the way he felt now... he was almost angry enough to stake her again himself. The fears Buffy and his family had expressed about her all along crawled like bugs beneath his skin.

Had she played him for a fool, as she had so many times in the past? Had Buffy been punished because he was too quick to give his Maker the benefit of the doubt, simply because he convinced himself she had a soul, and could thus be redeemed?

She rested a comforting hand on his back, and the contact sent a cold shiver of dread down his spine as he remembered the last time he saw his lover...

((Oh... my God...))

((Buffy...))

He flinched away. "Don't touch me," he said sharply, and got up. "I appreciate that you're trying to help. But I don't want to be comforted right now, okay? Not by you."

Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked into the office, where Doyle and Cordelia were frantically cross-referencing books that Wesley handed them while he consulted with Giles by phone.

"A Maldivian crystal? I'm not certain I know where to obtain such a thing," he was complaining to his fellow ex-Watcher.

"I can get one," Doyle informed him, yanking his cell phone out of his pocket and quickly dialing a number.

Cordelia noticed Angel's approach and looked up at him sadly. "Are you... how are you doing?"

He shrugged and took one of the books lying on the table, moving to lean against the check-in counter nearby. He knew it was useless for him to be standing there... there was no way he would see, let alone comprehend, a single word on the page. No matter where he looked, all he could see was Buffy's face... visions of her smiling, crying, glowing in the throes of bliss. And that last time... the horror and disbelief in her eyes. The betrayal...

Angel clapped the book shut and shook his head. He needed to *do* something. *Kill* something. Now. Run or fight or *anything* that would take his mind away from this *pain*... that would stop the recriminating voices in his head...

.//You did this to her. *You* asked for this. You were weak and stupid, as you've always been, and now Buffy is paying the price for your mistakes... *AGAIN*.//

"DAMN IT!" he shouted, slamming the book to the floor at his feet. All eyes in the office turned to him... and those who had been busy elsewhere came running back to see what happened.

He stood there, trembling, and stared at them.

Wesley was the first to move. He took his friend by the arm and led him back out into the lobby. The two men sat down on one of the couches, and Wesley decided to explain what he and Giles had accomplished thus far in modifying the Gypsy magick to help Buffy.

But the moment that he got a good look at his closest friend's face, the words died in his throat. The vampire looked... empty... and yet, blazing with heartbreaking anguish and rage at once. He found himself rethinking all that he was about to say --thin platitudes and reassurances that the spells would work, and they would get Buffy back. But in Angel's current frame of mind, he thought that perhaps lying to him might not be the wisest -- or most humane -- course of action.

Besides, what comfort could he possibly offer? There was no balm for the pain of a man who had lost the only woman he'd ever loved... especially not when that man was Angel... and that woman, Buffy. Yet he couldn't very well allow Angel to close himself off... let the no doubt blazing fury of the demon consume him, either. That would render him either dangerous or useless when the time came for them to act.

There was comfort, and there was hard reality, and Wesley hadn't the faintest idea in which direction he should go.

Angel finally solved the dilemma for him. "Will it work?"

The Englishman stared down at his hands in his lap. "We hope so. There's certainly no magickal reason why it shouldn't. But... I'm afraid we won't know for sure until we've actually tried it."

The vampire frowned and nodded absently. "I'll be ready either way," he mumbled, the flat tone of his voice causing Wesley to wonder if they might lose him no matter what happened to Buffy. Certainly no one -- not even someone as strong as his friiend -- could stay sane under the conditions he'd been forced to bear over the past few weeks. "Tell me what you've got so far."

Spike and the others watched Wesley explaining the modifications of the spell, then turned back to one another again.

"Before we can do anythin', we gotta get her soul *back*, first," Doyle whispered, "Until we do that..."

"All bets are off on his," Cordy lamented, collapsing into a chair and rubbing her eyes. "God... poor Angel..."

"Poor Buffy," Doyle added.

Spike furiously paced the office. "I can't believe the bloody Slayer's really wandering around out there without a *soul*!"

Faith shot him a look. "You don't have a soul, and you do okay."

The vampire stopped and glared at his lover. "Yeah, but *I* got a chip. And *I'm* not the soddin' Chosen One!"

"She is a whole Hell of a lot more dangerous than your average bear," Doyle agreed, coming to stand behind Cordelia and rubbing her shoulders comfortingly.

"She's still holding on," Faith reminded them, "That's what the whole butterfly-lioness thing was all about."

"Emma said the residual effects of the soul would hang on for a while," the half-demon recapped, "So we've probably still got time before she does any real damage. Meanwhile, it'll just be like... she's more free. Unfettered, ya know?"

"I know," Faith replied softly, "I remember what it feels like to know the rules and just decide they don't apply to you. Damn it! I shouldn't have let her go by herself! She was upset -- totally off her game. I should've known!"

Spike walked over and put his arm around her. "Not your fault, Pet. Shape she was in, you couldn'tve made her see sense even if you tried."

"Besides, there's plenty of blame to go around," Cordy added, "I mean, I know I could've tried harder to talk to Angel about Darla. I saw what was happening, too."

"We all did," her lover agreed. "But blaming ourselves or each other isn't gonna help. All we can do now is try and save Buffy."

Cordelia gazed sadly out at the lobby, where Angel and Wesley still sat, talking. Or, rather, the Englishman talked, while Angel stared out into space, wearing the scariest frown she'd ever seen.

"Try telling him that," she sighed.


	18. Sweet Dreams and Nightmares Talking

The afternoon sky was a smooth, flawless blue, so perfect that Angel could swear that he was lying on his back in the grass, gazing up at a painting rendered on the ceiling.

Of course, the Dreaming was always like this... not even a cloud to mar its perfection.

Buffy sighed contentedly and turned over, leaning on his chest and looking down at him with a peaceful smile.

"I knew I'd find you here," she whispered, running a gentle fingertip down the graceful slope of his nose, and punctuating her greeting with a soft kiss.

When she pulled away once more, Angel waited a moment before he opened his eyes, afraid that when he did, she might vanish. But finally, he managed, and found her radiant and shining golden in the sunlight, her long hair blowing slightly in the breeze. She was dressed as she often was in their shared dream world, in a sheer, cream-colored sundress that left little of her beautiful body to the imagination. She was, as she always had been, his goddess.

He couldn't help the pang of pain that shot through his heart. Usually, he knew that upon waking from his favorite fantasy, he would open his eyes and find that same sweet face beside his on the pillow. Their nights in the Dreaming were usually a source of refreshment from the stress of their daily lives. A reminder of all the Grace their love afforded them, with the shadows filtered out so that nothing remained but the joy of being together. Safe and happy, with no monsters, no sacred duties, no specters of war or death or past threatening them.

But this time... being with her only served as a reminder of his failure. That his tunnel vision regarding Darla had destroyed the woman he loved. And how now all that remained of his beloved was this spirit vision in his subconscious.

When he woke this time, he would be alone.

"I didn't think you'd be able to come," he murmured, his voice breaking with the tears of his very soul, which created this universe with hers. Usually when they were here, all the pain and sorrow were left far behind.

Her green eyes were sad, but still she managed a smile for him. "This is where our souls meet. And no matter what happens with our bodies, my spirit is always with you." She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, raising her face to the sun's gentle caress. "It's funny, all the things I can still feel, even without a body, you know? It's like this is where all our emotions come from, and the rest is just a shell."

He didn't want to move... or breathe, which he needed to do, here. She was so magnificent... as fully a part of the beauty of their meadow as the huge, ancient oak tree that shaded them, or the tall grass swaying across the rolling hills as far as the eye could see.

"I'm so sorry, Buffy," he finally whispered, sitting up beside her.

Her fine brow scrunched in confusion. "Sorry? For what?"

Angel looked away. "For the other night... and the past month. I'm the one that was a fool, and now you're suffering for it."

Buffy tucked a tiny hand under his chin, and urged his gaze up to hers. "I'm not suffering, Angel. It doesn't really hurt, except... not being able to be with you. You know, I can feel all of your pain and anger... and all I wanted to do was hold you and tell you it was okay. But I couldn't, and *that* hurt. It was too hard to find my way back, until I heard Emma calling."

Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed her, crushing her warm body against him the way he had the crystal that contained her soul just a few hours ago. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled that special Buffy scent... the aroma that, no matter where he was, or what he was doing, he could always conjure in his mind in perfect detail.

"I'm going to get you back, Ioniun," he vowed, "No matter what it takes."

"I know you will. And I'll be right here waiting for you until you do. I promise."

He pulled away to look into her sweet face once more, tenderly brushing her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"Buffy... about what you saw last night..."

Her smile slipped a little, and Angel's heart broke all over again to see definitive proof that what happened with Darla had wounded her down to her soul.

"You mean me walking in on your Darla liplock, courtesy of my worst nightmare coming to vivid Technicolor 'why do these things always happen to me' life right before my eyes?"

Angel nodded mutely, any speech that he might have planned swept away by the hurt he could hear behind her levity.

She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "I'm not going to lie to you, Angel. Seeing that really hurt me. But... it's like I shed all my fears and insecurities when they took my body." She chuckled. "That sounded a lot less Shirley MacClainey in my head. But what I'm trying to say is..." She gave him a loving smile. "It really doesn't matter all that much in the big scheme of things, you know? I mean... look at us. It's still just you and me, here, right? Just our souls. No Darla. So I figure... this is a reflection of our deepest selves... what's *really* inside of us. I know that you love *me*. And I know that her coming back totally threw your heart into a big existential blender. I guess... I understand it all, now."

Angel looked deeply into her spirit's eyes, and saw that she was telling the truth... the pure truth of her soul, where no deception could exist.

"Forgive me," he pleaded softly. "Please... just tell me you can forgive me. For all of it. For disregarding your feelings the way I did. For disrespecting you. I never meant to... I just..."

"Wanted to do the right thing?" she finished for him with a bright smile. "I know. I've known that all along. You're not perfect, Angel. Neither am I. I mean... I could have tried harder not to freak. Been more patient and understanding about what you were going through. You're not the only one who's made mistakes. But...you know what Faith always says -- shit happens, then you watch TV. There's nothing to forgive, as far as I'm concerned. I think we should just let it go."

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "I agree. And thank you."

"Hey... don't get too happy there, honey. We're still due a pretty good knock down, drag out when you get my body back. A la the kickboxing match we had back when I sold all your records and replaced them with CD's."

He laughed in spite of himself and gathered her in his arms. "I think I can handle that. I might even let you get in a shot or two, this time."

Buffy yanked away, shooting him a mock glare. "Excuse me? I seem to recall kicking your immortal ass into the next century, thank you very much!"

"Like Hell," he argued. "If you remember correctly, I had you flat on your back in under three minutes."

"Yeah, but you were molesting me. That's not exactly a sanctioned Fight Club move," she shot back.

"Fine then," he huffed, "No more molesting for you."

Their eyes met as the last words of their verbal sparring died away on the breeze, and both were immediately serious once more.

"I miss you so much, Buffy," Angel whispered. "I miss everything about you. Your smile... your laugh... the feeling of your hand in mine. I miss just knowing that you're near me. It's only been a day, and I already feel like I'm dying without you."

Tears welled up in her eyes. "But I bet you don't miss my wet towels on your leather furniture, or my shoes in the foyer, or the only coffee on the planet worse than Cordy's."

He gave her a sad smile. "Even those. No... especially those. Those are some of the little things that make you so special."

"I miss you, too," she replied, and kissed him.

There was something indescribably, profoundly intimate about their soul kisses... a power so soft, and yet, so strong, that it changed the very landscape around them every time. The birds stopped singing and the breeze died, as though the entire meadow stopped what it was doing to watch the magick they created when they touched.

They undressed one another carefully, both starving to memorize this moment that both of them knew, even if they didn't admit it aloud, might never come again. Angel laid her down gently in the grass and rested his weight above her, bending down to whisper in her ear.

"I need you, Buffy. Please... don't leave me. Please stay until I can get you back."

She closed her eyes and sighed deeply as their spirit bodies came together. She could feel his phantom heartbeat against her phantom chest, and she pulled him closer... deeper inside of her.

"I'll never leave you," she murmured as she kissed his throat, where, in the dream world, he bore a physical mark from their mating that never healed. "Even if you can't get me back. I'll always be with you, here."

They made love slowly, deliberately, drawing out each moment of their union until pleasure was very nearly pain, before finally letting go and falling from their peak together with a soft cry. After, she rolled over on her back and cradled Angel gently against her chest, stroking his damp hair and gazing wistfully up at the sky.

"Angel? Would you promise me something?"

"Anything," he whispered breathlessly, pressing a tender kiss to the soft inner turn of her breast.

"Don't let them do this to you. Don't let them beat you, no matter what happens. Don't let this drive you away from the light. Please?"

He raised himself up on one elbow, and looked down at her in confusion. "The light? What are you talking about?"

She frowned. "I told you... I could see what you were thinking. I could feel your rage. I saw what you want to do to Frost. Don't, okay? Do what you have to do to get my body back... but don't waste time on revenge. That won't accomplish anything. You have to promise me."

Angel looked away. "I don't know if I can promise you that, Buffy. Frost hurt you. He stole you from me as part of some twisted plan to feed his own greed for power and revenge. I can't let him get away with it."

Buffy tilted his head up. "No! You *have* to promise! If you love me, you won't sink to their level in my name. Fight them... kill them, if you have to. But no macho caveman Marquis de Sade vamp on PCP crap, okay? That's totally beneath you!"

He was almost glad that, before he had a chance to respond... to be forced to either deny or lie to her... a gentle shaking brought him abruptly back to wakefulness.

He sat up stiffly... he'd fallen asleep slumped over the kitchen island with the glowing soul crystal clutched in his hand. He looked up to find steely blue eyes looking down at him with compassion and concern.

"I didn't mean to wake you. I just... wanted to see how you were," Darla said, taking the seat beside him.

"I hurt," he answered curtly, and got up, turning away from her. It was impossible to look at his Sire and not be reminded of the crushed look on Buffy's face when she had seen them together.

Maybe his lover's soul forgave him... but his didn't.

Darla stared at the pattern of tiles on the floor beneath her bare feet. "I'm sorry, Angelus."

Angel closed his eyes and struggled desperately to push yet another wave of crushing guilt away. If there was anything he had learned in his existence, it was that that kind of self-recrimination accomplished nothing, and only drained him of strength he desperately needed for other things right now.

"It's not your fault," he forced himself to say. "You didn't ask for any of this to happen. If there's blame to be given, it falls squarely on me."

"No," she mumbled. "It doesn't."

The tone of her voice told him that she didn't mean the statement as a comforting platitude, and it drew his gaze back to her.

"What?" he growled, dread quickly blooming in his gut.

Had the others been even more horribly right than he imagined? Was the woman whose body housed the beast that murdered him about to confess that she was part of Frost's plan after all? Was Darla responsible for Buffy losing her soul?

He clenched his fists tight against the sudden urge to rip his Sire to shreds.

She looked down at her hands as she went on. "I knew Buffy was coming when I kissed you. I felt her approach through your bond. I wanted her to see what she saw."

Angel took an involuntary step away from her.

"You... what?" he gasped.

Darla looked up at him. "I wanted to remind her -- and you -- of what we once meant to one another. I couldn't simply let her take you from me without a fight."

His brown eyes flashed gold with rage. "What we once *meant* to one another? Are you *serious*? You talk about our relationship like we were characters in some romantic *tragedy*! What we *were*," he raged, taking a menacing step toward her and pointing in her face, "Were *monsters*! Cruel, cold-blooded, vicious, heartless *murderers*! All we *meant* to each other was sex, blood, death and horror... a union of *pure evil* and nothing more than that! So don't you *dare* try to put what we had as somehow on par with what Buffy and I share! The very *thought* is *disgusting*!"

Darla didn't flinch at his outburst, despite the pain his words caused in her. After all, she had seen him in far worse tempers than this.

"Perhaps you see it that way, but I don't." She rose from her seat and approached him. "Evil or no, murderers or no, *soulless* or no, I love you! That has never changed! You don't belong here any more than I do, Angelus! Can't you see? You've somehow deluded yourself into thinking that you're human -- that you can *mate* with a human... *live* among them... *work* with them! Well, you can't! You don't belong with that child, you belong with *me*, where you've always belonged! You and I are the same, the way we have always been the same. I simply took it upon myself to demonstrate that fact clearly for both yourself and your pet Slayer!"

"Shut up!" Angel spat, backing away. "Don't say another word!"

"No! I won't be silenced in this!" she shouted on, "You are *my* mate! You belonged to me for *centuries* before that little girl was even *born*! And long after her body is dust, and her soul gone to wherever it is that Slayers go, you and I will still be walking the Earth together! Accept it! You kissed me because you wanted to! Because you remember everything we shared as well and as fondly as I do!"

"I SAID SHUT UP!" he shouted, striking out blindly with his free hand. It shot into a pile of dishes drying beside the sink, shattering plates and glasses everywhere.

The noise silenced both vampires for a moment, and the biting pain of the glass slicing his skin brought Angel instantly back to clarity. They stood, frozen, staring at his blood as it dripped from his hand onto the counter.

"So it was all a lie," he said flatly, "Everything you said about leaving. About wanting to start again. It was all a trick. Buffy is gone because you had to play games with me."

Darla shook her head and stepped toward him, reaching out to claim his wounded hand. Before he could react, she brought the torn appendage to her lips and gently licked the blood away. "No. I'm only telling you this because I *am* sorry. Not that I feel the way I do about you, but... because of what my actions caused. I never meant to hurt you, Angelus -- or even her -- as badly as I did. I only wanted you to remember..."

Angel grimaced in revulsion, and yanked his hand from her grasp. "Don't *touch* me," he hissed, "Don't you *dare* touch me, ever again. You make me *sick*!" With a snarl, he began to shove past her, but before he could leave the kitchen, she grabbed his arm and forced him to look at her once more.

"We are blood, my Childe. I flow in your veins, no matter who you share your bed with. Never forget that."

He pulled out of her grip. "How can I? I'll be paying for it until the end of time," he growled, and stomped away.

Darla held her head up high as she watched his retreating form, and licked the remaining blood from her fingers.

"So you say, my love. We'll see how long that feeling lasts."


	19. Slivers of Hope and Changes of Heart

Wesley watched Angel's ceaseless pacing with a growing sense of unease. When he had come upon the vampire sleeping, slumped over on the kitchen island with an untouched glass of blood in one hand and the crystal containing Buffy's soul in the other, he had simply removed the former, dumping it out in the sink so that it wouldn't spill, and left his friend to sleep. He had been hoping some rest might help, as nothing else anyone tried thus far had.

But when Angel returned from the kitchen, he had stomped angrily upstairs and come down a few moments later with his hand bandaged, and in apparently darker spirits than before.

They needed to do something--soon--or Wesley was certain that his friend would come completely unraveled.

Every member of their bizarre extended family -- even those who he had never been quite sure knew *how* to read -- were bent over one task or another that he and Giles had deemed important. The elder Watcher, Emma, Oz, Willow and Tara sat on the couches, pouring over the magickal materials they would need for the restoration. Faith and Spike were holed up in the weapons room, making certain that all the equipment was in good working order. Xander, Anya and Doyle scoured the outdated maps of the LA underground, comparing them to building permits and real-estate records that Willow had filched from the Greater LA Basin zoning office. He and Cordelia continued their ongoing work with the various prophecies in their possession, cross-referencing what Korin remembered of the Luciestat texts with the materials they had already gathered, hoping to create a more fleshed-out picture of the battles to come.

All in all, he felt as though their efforts were really not more than a futile attempt to distract themselves from the distressing fact that they had no clue how to find Frost and the Sanguinati, and thus no idea where Buffy's body was being held.

A rather depressing state of affairs, actually.

But at least the majority of their numbers seemed mildly successful in their attempts to do *something*, however ineffective, to try and change their current position. Whereas Angel simply continued to suffer in solitary silence, walking agitatedly from one end of the lobby to the other and back again, wearing a frightening scowl.

Wesley was half tempted to shoot the poor vampire with the tranquilizer gun. At least then he might rest until they figured out their next move.

He yanked off his glasses and rubbed his bleary eyes. It seemed the more tired he got, the more ridiculous his thought processes became.

It was all so frustrating! Here they were, arguably the most powerful collective force for good on the planet, and all they could do was flail about helplessly like fish on dry land, hoping for some miracle to fall into their laps. He had been certain that magick could aid them, but even the potent quartet of Oz, Emma, Willow and Tara working in tandem were unable to do something so simple as scry the location of Buffy's physical form. When they made a cursory attempt to restore her soul at a distance, they had met with wards so powerful, they blocked the Witches from even divining their source or nature.

Was this perhaps the deciding battle that they had so long been preparing for? The earthshaking event that would determine the ultimate victor in the coming war? Perhaps Frost had been the Master rising that the Slayers and their vampire lovers shared nightmares foretold. Perhaps Buffy's death in those nightmares had been symbolic, as was the presence of Angelus. Because Frost obviously intended to turn the souled vampire and needed to sever his bond with Buffy in order to do so, the events had unfolded metaphorically thus in the dreams.

If they lost both Buffy and Angel...

This was all just too much to comprehend! They *had* to get Buffy back... there was simply no choice in the matter! If only they could find even the tiniest shred of hope to pull them through...

"Um... Wes? Can you look at this?" Cordelia asked softly from her perch at the computer terminal.

He quickly slid his chair beside her and glanced at the documents she had open on the screen. "Have you found something?"

"Oh, I found something..." the former beauty queen informed him, "I just don't know if it's actually a *useful* something." She clicked a couple of keys and pulled up a search screen. "I used all the key words you gave me... rising, resurrection, Frost, Master, light, dark..."

"Yes, yes, Cordelia. I remember the list. Just tell me what you found, please," he sighed in exasperation.

"That's what I'm *doing*, " she snapped. "Look at the results. Most of them are ones we've been looking at all along. The Gate, the Master, The end of the world, blah blah blah. But when I added the Luciestat terms to the list... these two things came up. They're not fully translated, and I don't think I've seen either of them before."

Wesley scanned the two passages opened side by side on the screen.

"That's odd. They look like almost identical notations taken from two different sources. One is Latin. The other... I believe is Aramaic," he observed, "Possibly part of the Sha'an Tal Edicts that we haven't gotten to yet. Let me see. Hm... it talks about the Great War... the Great General, here, and the Great Shadow, here, and... oh. Oh, dear."

Cordy glared at him as he trailed off. "Don't just say 'Oh...oh, dear'! Elaborate!"

"Yes, well. I, uh..." Wesley scanned the pages again. "It would appear that both of these passages pertain to Angel, if we are to believe that he is the Great General. This one on the left may be an excerpt from the Luciestat itself. It's only slightly different than this other... primarily in point of view, I think. One sees the same event from a different perspective than the other. The Aramaic speaks of the aftermath of the Great War as a time of balance and healing, when "all will be made whole once more." Whereas the Latin talks about restoration of the "Curse of the Wheel." That all will be laid to waste. That the Great General, uh... hm. I don't think I know this word. 'Shanshu'? It's certainly not Latin." He turned and called out toward the lobby. "Giles? Emma? Might I speak with you both for a moment?"

The elder Englishman and the old Gypsy rose from their seats and joined he and Cordelia in the office, gathering around the computer terminal.

"Have you found something?" Giles asked, a thread of both desperation and hope running through his voice that gave Wesley pause for a moment. Perhaps now wasn't the best time to ask his colleague to help with a passage of the prophecies dealing with a distant future that his foster daughter might not even live to see...

No. If they could decipher this strange excerpt, it might very well prove to not only describe Angel's fate... but Buffy's as well.

It might be the very hope they had been grasping for.

"I'm not certain. Cordelia seems to have stumbled upon a part of the prophecies that appears in both the Sha'an Tal Edict and the Luciestat. This word, here," he pointed to the screen, "Appears to be pivotal to the meaning of the passage, but I'm unable to recognize it."

Giles adjusted his glasses and peered at the document. "My lord. This is about Angel."

"Yes, I believe it is," Wesley confirmed.

"All right. 'Shanshu'... Proto-Bantian, perhaps?" the elder ex-Watcher mused aloud, pulling up a chair. Emma stood over his shoulder.

"This is not part of the Sha'an Tal Edict," she informed them, "It is a passage from the Prophecies of Aberjian."

Wesley and Giles both gaped at her.

"That's not possible," the latter objected.

"No! Those scrolls have been long lost!" the former added. "They're supposed to contain the most specific and detailed prophecies regarding the Grand Paradox and the Gate."

"Mm," Emma confirmed, "And this section young Cordelia has found speaks of the aftermath of the Final Battle. The Luciestat twists it to sound like a punishment if their army loses, but Aberjian describes the restoration of balance, and the reward for those who risked their lives for the sake of the light.

"I guess I'd better go put on another pot of coffee then," Cordy sighed, dragging herself wearily out of her chair.

"If you must," Wesley grumbled.

"Shanshu... shanshu..." Giles mused aloud, glad for the distraction.

***

Once the weapons were ready, Spike took a seat in the lobby and watched the humans moping around, wondering how the Hell they were going to find the Sanguiniati, whining and grousing all the while about their shitty luck. The only break from their incessant angst was the occasional weak attempt at magick. The werewolf, his two lovers, and the Gypsy went at it fairly regularly, casting seeking spells or commiserating with the rock that supposedly held the Slayer's soul, but all to no avail. It was long past sunrise, and in his estimation, time was a-wasting.

He was a demon of definitive action, and all their impotent wailing and gnashing of teeth was getting on his last good nerve. So he decided, finally, to take matters into his own hands.

The problem, in his opinion, was their insistence on the bloody kid glove treatment of Darla. Whether she knew what the Hell was going on or not, she was at the center of all this bullocks, and it was high sodding time that she started serving up some damn answers.

He stomped up to her suite, marched in without knocking, and clicked off the television, turning to glare at her... and trying to ignore the pale, prone figure of Korin unconscious beside her on the bed. He could smell the fairy's blood... freshly spilled. Darla showed no sign that she'd been feeding but a healthy, almost living flush to her fair cheeks.

His GrandSire looked up at him placidly. "Yes, William?" she said in a distinctly condescending tone, "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Start talking," he snapped. "*Now*."

Darla gave him a sweet smile. "Why, whatever would you like me to say?"

In the blink of an eye, Spike crossed the room, vamped out, and hauled the bitch up off the floor by a chokehold on her neck.

"Listen up, you old hag! You may have everybody else around here snowed with your conflicted psycho routine, but not me. I *know* you, Darla -- you're nothing but a conniving *whore*, just like you *always* were. And unlike all those pussies downstairs -- my esteemed Sire included -- I don't have a single goddamn qualm about tossing you right the Hell out that window over there and watching you explode like a marshmallow in a campfire. So tell me what the fuck you know about the Sanguinati, and tell me now, or you're gonna sorely wish Frost left you dead!"

To emphasize his point, he carried her wriggling, kicking carcass over to the large French windows and took hold of one edge of the heavy curtain with his free hand.

She struggled fiercely, now in demon face herself, and dug her talons into his hands. "Let me go... WHELP!" she choked.

Spike squeezed her neck a little harder. "Wrong answer, *GrandSire*," he spat, and yanked the curtain open an inch, just enough to let a thin shaft of morning light catch her upper arm. She shrieked as the pale flesh began to smoke.

"Still don't hear you talking yet!" Spike reminded her.

The elder vampire hissed at him. He pulled open the curtain a little farther and watched with no small amount of glee as a little flame appeared on her skin. Darla screamed again, and he pulled her back.

"I don't know anything!" she cried.

"BULLSHIT!"

"I swear! I don't!

"Where the fuck are they hiding? How the Hell many of them are there? You sat in Court for a good hundred years before Angelus dusted you, so you may not know everything there is to know now, but you sure as fuck know *something*!"

Despite the defiant sneer on her demons' face, and her dangerous tone, Darla's amber eyes were wide with fear. "Go ahead, boy! Throw me out the window! Then you'll *never* find your precious Slayer!"

Spike pulled her toward him until their faces were barely inches apart. "We'll find her either way, ya bleedin' bitch. And believe me when I tell you, it'd be worth pissing Angel off to see you buy the farm once and for all. I only wish I could've been there the first time so I could have done a fucking *jig* on your ashes."

The vampiress let her fair human features return, but still wore her cold smirk. "I'm sensing some hostility , Spike. Still have unresolved issues with the way I whelped you and your insane little fuck doll after your Sire *abandoned* you?"

Spike snarled loudly, and without preamble, shoved Darla through the curtain and straight out the window, shattering the thick glass. He ignored the pain of a hundred little cuts and the sun searing his hand as his GrandSire wailed in agony.

"ALL RIGHT! ALL RIGHT! LET ME IN! I'LL TELL YOU WHAT I KNOW!" she shrieked.

The younger vampire yanked her back into the room and tossed her to the floor. Her flesh smoked slightly, and there were cuts marring her porcelain skin here and there, but no real damage had been done. For a moment, Spike glared down at her... the drive to throw her out again and *leave* her there this time dampened only vaguely by the fact that they needed whatever small bit of information she might possess.

"That's what I thought. Get up," he barked, "Wake up your walking snack bar, and be downstairs in five minutes with some goddamn answers, or the next time you see me, I'll be the *last* thing you see."

With that, he turned on his heel and swaggered out of the room, unable to resist grinning to himself in spite of the stinging burns and cuts on his arm.

There was nothing quiet so satisfying as a bit of violence to break the tension.

***

Emma wandered out onto the veranda, where she found Angel, sitting in the deep shade and watching the morning drift by. She shuffled over and sat down beside him on the rattan loveseat.

The instant her old behind sank into the cushions, she found herself inundated by the lovers' presence. Lingering essences of millions of moments spent in this very spot, talking, laughing, and making love together. She felt as though she had somehow taken a seat in the very heart of them. It was no wonder that Angelus had sought out this perch for comfort. Above all of the waves of love in the furniture, though, his pain broadcasted. His grief and guilt were like a minor chord cutting into a soft, melodic harmony.

The old woman took his cool hand and gave it a squeeze.

"How fare you, child?"

The souled vampire sighed deeply. "You mean other than feeling like my intestines were ripped out through the gaping hole in my chest?"

Emma smiled. "I believe that answers my question."

"It's my fault, you know," he murmured, not turning away from the sunshine. "I might as well have killed her myself."

The Gypsy frowned. Not that she was in any way surprised to see Angel's penchant for self-recrimination and insistence on taking responsibility for everything in his reality being manifested so clearly. Of all the things she believed he was strong enough to shoulder... losing his beloved Slayer had never been one of them. But she had been hoping to at least feel some sliver of fight remaining in him, especially after he had commiserated with his lover's soul in his dream earlier.

"I don't mean to disregard your grief, dear one, but you know as well as I do how untrue that is. You were unable to do her harm even when it was you who was without a soul."

"A sin committed by neglect and inaction is still a sin," he argued, "I let my personal problems get in the way of my good judgement. I let Darla manipulate me... blind me. And now Buffy is paying for it." He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw tight. "She's always suffering for my failures. I can't help but think... she would have been so much better off in so many ways if she had never met me at all."

"But worse off in many others, don't you think? Central parts of her Self and her life?" Emma replied.

Angel shook his head. "I don't know anymore. Especially after this. They took her *soul*, Grandmother. Because of me. Because I couldn't see the threat living under my own roof, even when everyone in my family insisted it was there."

The Gypsy nodded sagely, relaxing back in her seat. "Perhaps. But you forget, young one, that whatever else you may be, beneath it all, you are still merely a man. You are flawed, as is your Little Warrior. As am I. As are all the people in this building. You cannot see all, Angel. The path you walk is shrouded in darkness... the only way to find the light beyond is to travel through it. Persist, even when all seems hopeless. When the tests the Fates have planned for you seem unbearable."

He turned to look at her finally, his handsome features marked in anger. "Are you saying this was *supposed* to happen?"

The old woman shrugged. "It is not my place to judge what should or should not happen. That is only for the Powers to decide."

Angel scowled fiercely. "If They let this happen to Buffy, then I have to wonder if I'm fighting for the right side. What if we can't get her back? I thought she and I were supposed to make the difference in who wins the final war."

"Mi Aclesati Fericit... the prophecies never say which army you would battle for. That, ultimately, is the question that no one but you can answer," Emma told him gently, "You have survived a very long journey from the coldest pits of evil -- did you think that this journey was through? Did you imagine that your lover's path would be any less arduous?"

He abruptly stood and resumed pacing... this time, the length of the veranda. "I can accept that *I* have to be tested. But why *Buffy*?" He halted and glared down at the Grandmother with his agony clear in his eyes. "She's *good*... and *strong*. She's never been anything but. Why does she have to suffer through some quest to prove that?"

The were-cat looked him squarely in the eye. "How do you think that this test is for her? She is in no pain. She is not the one who is left behind, forced to struggle with the meaning of this."

"Then They're using *her* as a tool to test *me*? That's WORSE!" the enraged vampire shouted.

"You cannot change what has already passed," his friend reminded him. "You can only move forward. Cursing the gods accomplishes nothing. Letting your anger consume you will not return your love to you."

His head drooped, and he covered his face with his hands for a few moments before looking at her once more.

"I can't do it without her," he declared softly, "I just can't."

The Gypsy gave him a reassuring smile. "Then you must be strong, and bring her back, no?"

"How?" he sighed. "We don't even know where she is. Or how to get to her if we did."

"Yes, we do," Darla said from behind him.

Angel turned to find Spike and his Sire standing in the doorway. He noted the cuts on her exposed skin and the bruises on her throat, then looked at his Childe.

"What are you talking about?"

"Darla thinks she knows where the Sanguinati are," Spike replied, "And she has an idea how we can get in without getting us all dusted."

He glanced at the wounds on Darla once more, and shot Spike a questioning glare that said he clearly didn't quite equate one with the other.

"She took a little convincing," the youngest vampire replied to Angel's unspoken question.

Angel returned to his seat beside Old Emma and gestured for the other members of his bloodline to take the empty chairs nearest him.

"Let's hear it, then."

"Frost is the Prelate of the Sanguinati Council of Vampires," Darla began. "However much a maverick he likes to fancy himself, he is still fully bound by the Law. We can use that fact to our advantage."

Angel narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her. "Why should you care?" he hissed, "You've made yourself very clear as far as your feelings about Buffy and I are concerned. Isn't this exactly what you wanted?"

She frowned. "No, *this* is not what I wanted. Besides, no matter how I might feel personally about you or your human consort... I owe Frost for using me the way he has. And for his crimes against our Order."

Her Childe stared at her for a long moment, weighing the truth of her words. Trusting her before had led them here. What Hell might trusting her again lead them to?

Ultimately, he didn't care. He would gladly brave another eternity burning if it gave them even the slimmest chance of saving Buffy.

"All right. I'm listening," he said softly.

Darla looked from one face of her audience to the other, and began.

"In 1923, the Council became involved with an eccentric billionaire named Techarti, who believed that he could build a utopian city underground, where he and his immortal allies might live without fear of humanity's interference..."


	20. The First Cuts Are the Deepest

Anyone who thought that being the leader of the largest and most powerful vampire organization on the planet was an entirely fun, exciting, or glamorous job, was sadly mistaken. In fact, a great deal of it involved sitting about wearing a neutral mask and pretending to listen to mind-numbingly boring squabbles, and other painfully mundane tasks.

Almost two days had passed since the thrill of Buffy's arrival... and the majority of it had been filled with the lowest doldrums of Sanguinati business. Border disputes. Intra-Order grievances. Bickering about plunging stock values and blood-bourne illnesses flooding some feeding populations. Whether Master X should grovel at the feet of Master Y because the latter trounced the former in some idiot duel. There were reports to read and papers to sign. He'airaich spawnings to oversee, and high-ranking American officials (of both the legal and illegal variety) to bribe...

Boring, boring, boring, and still mind-numbingly more boring. Unfortunately, it all had to be done, and there was not a demon around him -- not even his First Made -- that Frost trusted enough to take on any of it.

But this time, two things somewhat brightened his chores: Buffy's presence, and the fact that her presence shut the mouths of every naysayer who had ever dared speak against him in Court. Both were nearly equally delightful.

Once wards had been cast around all the major rooms of the compound, protecting his guest from her clan's attempts to reclaim her from a distance, she had quickly regained her spunk... and had acquired a certain enthusiasm for her new life, as well. Although he hesitated to allow her to learn too much of the inner workings of the Council, he did let her accompany him on some lesser errands.

Buffy had taken up debriefing and interrogation duties as though she was born to do them. As it turned out, her training in destroying vampires and what she had learned about torture -- presumably from her mate's memory -- were turning out to be quite handy resources indeed. She had pried the location of the missing Amulet of Davashtar from two vampires of the Khagit Order in less than ten minutes left alone with them. Rather an impressive feat, actually, considering that clan's propensity for stubbornness and idiocy. He didn't ask his new lover her methods, and she didn't offer to explain. All that mattered was that she got the job done, and did it well.

He had been joking when he suggested that Buffy might be useful as his enforcer... but he was beginning to think that his levity might have been premature.

Of course, *all* of his thoughts of a future with the Slayer remained premature at this juncture. They still had heard nothing directly from Angelus, and the Prelate was fully aware that the silence would not last long. The Order's attempts at retrieving his mate through magick had failed... but he held absolutely no illusions that he would give her up permanently without a fight.

Although, to his surprise, he found that he cared less and less about his previous plans for the boy -- both his personal desire for revenge and his designs toward twisting the Gate Prophecies to meet his own ends. Frankly, having Buffy by his side gave him impetus to rethink his entire strategy. Having control of the Slayer (or at least, having her allegiance, as he didn't believe for a moment that she *could* be controlled) would still give him leverage in gaining the power of the Grand Paradox. Two of the Gate's other points would be fairly simple to acquire. At least half of the Key was also at his disposal, when he was ready to put it to use, and the other half would certainly require little effort to acquire, once they actually identified her.

Who was to say they needed Angelus at all? Perhaps his place was merely as a stepping stone for Frost himself to rise as the Great General. Certainly destroying all that the whelp held dear, and the planet he so loved besides, would be retribution enough?

No, of course not. He would both strip Angelus of all he valued, *and* kill him. No need for choice between the two.

He smiled to himself as he signed an order commanding the annihilation of one of the lesser Spanish Orders.

All in all, it was turning out to be a rather nice evening. Maybe he would take Buffy out again tonight, only this time, to the club in Milan. She'd never been to Europe, and there was no entertainment on Earth quite like the atmosphere of La Fame -- The Hunger -- one of the only openly vampiric bars in the world. She could wear the wine satin she'd been fitted for this morning, and be the belle of the ball... the talk of demons everywhere...

And make him that much closer to being King of the world... without the need to make some cheezy epic romance movie.

He handed the signed documents to his page, and faced the assembled Court once more.

"All right, then. Is there any other new business before we adjourn for the night?" he called out, his voice resonating through the cavernous chamber. There was no reply for a moment, and Frost was about to call the gathering to a close, when the main doors opened and a feeder scurried in with her head bowed.

Frost rolled his eyes at the wretched beast. When he finally abolished the Council, and became dictator, one of the first things he vowed to accomplish was destroying the filthy fairies and banning their breeding. What clan would dare show such disrespect to the Council as to send their brainless pet to speak on their behalf?

The thing dropped to its knees and pressed its head to the red carped that lined the floor beneath the steps of the dais.

"Master Frost, I bring tidings," it mumbled.

Frost grimaced in distaste.

"What? Speak up, beast! From whom do you bring tidings?" Christophe barked from beside him.

The He'airaich took a deep breath and spoke again, louder this time.

"Master Frost, I bring tidings from the Master of your host city, Angelus, and from his Sire, Darla, The Aurelius!"

The Prelate blinked, losing his composure for a split second. But despite his shock at this unexpected turn of events, he quickly recovered.

"Do you, now? How interesting," he drawled, "And what say the rogue Masters?"

Korin swallowed hard and forced herself to stand before the throne. Her mistress had drilled her all day as to how to properly address the Court, but now that she was actually here, she found it difficult to remember any of it at all.

"Sire... Angelus and Darla of Aurelius seek audience with the Court, to discuss the Council's arrival in the city."

Frost glanced at the page that had escorted the fairy in.

"It's true, Sire," the vampire confirmed, "The Aurelius and Angelus demand to have their grievances heard before the Court." The young demon stepped closer, dropping his voice to a more conversational tone. "They arrive with William the Bloody... and the other Slayer... as escort."

That little revelation brought a smile to the Prelate's lips. All four points of the Gate now under his roof? Splendid. Perhaps their visit, though unexpected, wouldn't turn out to be so unpleasant after all.

"Well, then, since they have gone to such trouble to find us, I imagine we must admit them, no?" He replied, and sat straighter in his throne, taking a moment to straighten his clothes. "I will grant audience to the Master of Los Angeles and The Aurelius!" he announced formally.

The page bowed and hurried back to the ten-foot oak doors at the entry to the Great Hall. He and another page each took the handle of one, and together, swung them open to reveal the entourage waiting on the other side. He surreptitiously gestured to Christophe to have Buffy brought to the chamber.

The tension in the air kicked up to a harrowing level as the foursome came forward -- the tiny Aurelius and her much larger Childe in front, with William and the Slayer coming up a few steps behind. The latter pair's eyes scoured from one side of the room to the other and back again, carefully watching the assembly for any signs of treachery, while the former kept their eyes forward, trained pointedly on Frost and the elders. The gallery hummed loudly with excited chatter, until the group at last arrived at the foot of the stage, and Christophe gestured for silence.

Darla took a step forward and gave a curt bow of her head, pausing dramatically for a moment as she slowly turned to looked at every corner of the gallery before facing the Prelate once more.

"Prelate Deacon Frost, the Order of Aurelius petitions the Court's ear on several matters of great importance to our clan," she announced.

He gave her a chilly smile. "So formal, then, Darla? All right. I accept your petition. Aurelius is granted leave to speak."

To his further surprise, Angel stepped forward. Frost couldn't hold back his smirk to see the vampire that had consumed his every thought for so many years looking worn and haggard, as though he'd spent the past 48 hours in battle.

"I am Angelus, Childe of Darla, The Aurelius, and Master of Los Angeles. I wish three grievances be heard by the Court," the younger vampire intoned.

The Prelate sat up straighter in his chair. He honestly hadn't counted on Angel using the formal Sanguinati protocol to gain entrance... he had envisioned something much closer to a souled demon driven mad by grief, storming the compound on some misguided kamikazee mission. But with all the elders -- and a good chunk of the membership of the Council -- present, he had no choice but to let Angelus speak his piece.

"I'm well aware of who you are," he snarled, unable to keep the venom from his voice... or to deny the whelp's right to air his complaints. "Although I might question your title as stated. This region *has* no Master, from what I am brought to understand."

Angel ignored the slight. He wasn't officially Master of anything... he had never wanted to be. But as much as he despised the idea, Darla was right. He had more or less declared the City his territory any number of times, and using that leverage, and Darla's official position as Aurelius, were the only way to gain entrance to the Court without getting all of them killed in the process.

He had to fight to stand still and remain focused on the steps the protocol required. To keep looking directly at Frost without rushing him and cleaving his murderous head from his body... to run screaming for Buffy through the halls of the compound.

She was here. He could smell her. Feel her in every square inch of the air around him. Her scent permeated Frost himself... a fact that made it ten times as difficult not to just unleash his barely restrained grieving rage and rip the bastard apart on the spot.

This soon-to-be-dust vampire had touched his Buffy.

"I declared myself as such, and no challenge has been leveled against me. Will the Court hear my grievances, or should we just skip all the formalities and declare war?" he forced himself to growl.

.//He stinks of her. Like her skin... like her...//

Angel forcibly cut off his thoughts. One more step in that direction, and all the mental discipline in the cosmos wouldn't be enough to hold him back from destroying Frost and his entire pit of vipers. Right now, above and beyond all else, he had to think of Buffy. Of getting her back with a minimum of risk to her or any of his friends. He would have to resist the nearly irresistible urge to do murder the likes of which the vampire world hadn't seen since before he regained his soul.

Frost's haughty expression didn't shift, and he could see or smell no fear on the Prelate -- a realization that worried him, and all but guaranteed that this meeting was nothing but a waste of time.

But still, he had to try. However great his anger, he and his three companions could never hope to defeat the hoards of demons nesting here alone. Even if Emma and the others did manage to break down the barriers around the compound and restore Buffy's soul -- they would never get her home alive.

Frost leaned forward, resting his forearms casually on his knees. "Now, Angelus. There's no need to resort to meaningless threats. We're all brothers and sisters, here. I'd be more than happy to hear your complaints. And do make certain to speak clearly and loudly so that the assembly can take part."

The only sounds Angel could hear were the heartbeats and breathing of Faith and Korin behind him as he began to speak, struggling to remember formal words that he had never been forced to use before.

"You've assembled in my sovereign territory without my leave. You've attacked The Aurelius and her servant for no good cause. I object strongly to both," he declared, "Darla is under my protection, and as the Master of a Council Order, she is due the respect and privileges as such. I... *ask* that you both leave Los Angeles, and leave her alone."

His opponent held his gaze evenly with his cold blue eyes for a moment, then got up, taking the first step down toward Angel, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Is that all, Angelus?" the Prelate smirked.

.//No, you weasley little bastard. That is *not* all.//

Angel unconsciously clenched his jaw, forcing the next part out through his teeth. "You have also abducted my chosen mate. I demand that she be returned to our house immediately. Unharmed," he finished, unable to hide the slight growl in his tone.

Frost smiled broadly, as if that had been what he was waiting for, and took the next stair down. Angel's hands fairly itched -- the vampire was within arms' easy reach. He could rip the Prelate's head off before his bodyguards could even blink.

"Ah," the elder vampire chuckled. "I see. So... you think we've *stolen* your mate, then?"

"I *know* you have. I was there," Angel spat, "You used the Beldisian Annals to tear out her soul, and now you're keeping her body captive here. I want her back. Now."

Frost nodded thoughtfully. "Hm. Well... you were certainly right to come before us, Angelus, if that is what you believe." He turned toward the gallery, every member of which seeming to be on the edge of their seat. "For there is no doubt that if the things you allege are true, then sacred laws older than the oldest line in this council have been violated. It is our sworn duty to address these grievous crimes with all due haste!" Turning back to Angel once more, the elder gave him a patently fake warm smile, and returned to his seat. "As to your first charge, that your sovereignty over this territory has allegedly been violated by our presence here. I'm afraid that the letter of the law pre-empts your claim. As your Sire has, still, technically sworn allegiance to the Sanguinati, then by extension, the claims and property of all her issue fall under our jurisdiction. What is yours, my brother... is *ours*. So, unless you wish to formally challenge this Court's authority in the matter... wage war, as you so colorfully described it... then your first petition is moot."

He sat back for a moment while the conversation rose in volume once again as it did after every verdict. When the vampires settled once more, he continued.

"As for your second charge -- that we have somehow done harm to The Aurelius herself..." Frosts eyes ticked to Darla, giving her a slow, leering once over. "She looks fine to me, I must say. In fact, better than fine. Distinctly... not dust, I think. You see, Angelus, we, the council, have a vision... a dream of repopulating the planet with all the greatest immortals ever to grace its face. The politicians... the artists... the warriors... the founders of our member Orders. But before we could proceed in that, we needed all the seats of the elders council occupied." He looked squarely into Angel's eyes once more. "We had only the purest of intentions when we resurrected your Sire -- to also resurrect your esteemed line, and place it in its rightful place among us. We merely wanted to restore the House of Aurelius, and thus the entire Court, to its former glory." A look of pathetically false contrition touched his youthful features. "The unfortunate side effects of the magick weren't foreseeable. However, I can assure you, Darla is in no danger from me, or any other member of this council. There is no need to give her asylum."

"Pure intentions, my white ass," Spike muttered to Faith as the gallery hummed. "If his bloody intentions are pure, I'm a natural soddin' blond."

"And finally," Frost called out, brining order back to the room. "Your final, and most serious, charge. That we have abducted your mate and now hold her here against her will. I think, perhaps, that this is a matter best addressed by the alleged 'victim' herself, don't you think?"

He nodded to the guards by his personal entrance, and they scrambled to open the door.

Spike, Faith and Darla -- along with every other creature in the room, craned their necks in that direction. Angel kept his eyes nailed to Frost.

For a moment, the doorway remained empty.

The Prelate frowned, shooting a glare at Christophe. The younger vampire shrugged. "Buffy?!" Frost barked, his annoyance clear in his voice.

Another second ticked by. And another. And another. Spike could feel every one like a worm crawling under his skin. His Sire, though he was trying hard to fight it, looked about ready to combust on the spot. The scent of rage and apprehension hung around him like an almost palpable aura.

Finally, after what seemed a small eternity, Buffy sauntered casually into the room, reading a magazine and loudly snapping her gum. She looked up with surprise, as though she hadn't expected to find a couple of hundred vampires waiting for her.

"Am I late?" she drawled, shooting a grin at the guests. "Hey, guys. Welcome to Frosty's House of Horrors."

Spike's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he got a gander of the new, improved Buffy. She looked like she'd copied her outfit straight out of the pages of "Chic Villain" -- skin tight black leather pants and a blood red silk halter top that barely had a right to be called clothing at all. She wore black platform heels so high she was almost actually *normal* height, had her hair ratted out like some 80's hair band groupie, and overdone make-up to match: heavy black eyeliner and shining crimson lipstick.

Now that he thought about it, she sort-of looked like Faith... just kicked up a notch or two.

The primary Slayer casually tossed her magazine to one of the guards and climbed the dais, leaning her elbow on the back of Frost's chair.

"Sorry, Deac. Lost track of time. Now, what was the question again?"

Angel began to shake noticeably. Protocol demanded that he keep his eyes on Frost... but keeping his eyes on Frost meant that Buffy was directly in his line of sight. The others noticed his reaction immediately. Spike, Darla and Faith each took a step closer to him, and Frost's shit-eating grin took on a wry quirk.

"Angelus thinks that we're holding you captive, Buffy. He demands that we release you forthwith," the Prelate recapped for her.

A million emotions roared through Angel's trembling body. On one hand was the pure, unadulterated relief to see her physical form whole and apparently unharmed, the sensation of her presence -- proof that she wasn't dead -- echoing in his blood.

But the fury that had been gnawing at him since they first set foot in the compound was quickly joined by horror... jealousy and possessiveness like nothing he'd ever felt before. His lover stood beside Frost, playing carelessly with his hair, her barely concealed breasts mere inches from the vampire's smug face. Angel could smell him on her as completely as he had smelled his mate on the elder previously. Their familiarity with one another sliced him down to the very depths of his heart.

But that pain was nothing compared to what struck him as her cold, indifferent gaze... her empty, soulless eyes... fell on him, and she spoke.

"Oh yeah? Huh." Buffy held out her hands, wiggling her freshly manicured fingers at her former lover. "That's funny, 'cause... look ma... no chains."

Frost took one of her hands and brought it to his lips, holding it there as he continued to look at Angel.

"So, Buffy, you are not our prisoner, then?" he asked.

The blonde Slayer snorted. "How about not? In fact... I like it here." She stepped away from Frost, walking straight down the dais steps to stand in front of a visibly shaken Angel. "Sorry, sweetie. I know I probably should've called, but... you know," she said with a shrug and a sneer. "I've been kinda busy."

Angel forced his eyes away from her.

"Look, Angel. We had some good times. But really? The whole agony and ecstasy thing gets kinda stale after a while. Deac, here... he's all about the fun. He takes me out... shows me off. Treats me like a woman's supposed to be treated, you know? No offense, but... I can do without all the baggage." She took a step closer to him, and stood up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. "And between you and me? He *rocks* in the sack."

Her lover flinched visibly, eliciting a merry laugh from Buffy as she backed away. "So, no, I'm not a prisoner. In fact, I'm having the time of my life. Sorry, Angel babe..." Arriving back at the throne, she draped herself across Frost's lap and threw her legs over the arm of the chair. "But we're *so* over. You've been replaced."

The Court was deathly silent. Spike stood as close to Angel as he could get without standing *on* him. The way his Sire was shaking, the emotions washing off him like a storm gale... it was only a matter of time before he totally fell apart. If that happened, they were all toast.

Frost wrapped his arms around the Slayer and kissed the top of her head. "I should say that your third point of grievance is also moot, wouldn't you? Your former mate no longer wishes to be tied to your Order, as is her right to choose. Your demand of her return is denied, and if you try to take her by force against her will, the wrath of the entire Council will be on *you*."

Spike heard a low growl start deep in Angel's chest. Before he could make any stupid moves that would mean all their slow, painful deaths, he marched forward.

"I'm William, Childe of Angelus, Master of Los Angeles, GrandChilde of Darla, The Aurelius. And that lady in your lap there's got my Sire's mark. You got no claim to her. By the Law, you gotta release her whether she likes it or not!"

Buffy sat bolt upright, shooting him a glare. "Like Hell! He can't tell me where to go!"

"If you don't release her," Darla added, also stepping between Angel and the stage, "Then you, Deacon Frost, will face *our* wrath. The fury of the Order of Aurelius will be upon *you.*"

Spike spoke again. "If you deny Angel's petitions, he's got a right to appeal by challenge!"

"A *duel*?" Frost laughed with delight, "Winner takes all? The city and the girl? How intriguing!"

"Hey!" Buffy objected, jumping off the Prelate's lap. "I'm not some trophy you can win or lose in a fight, buddy!"

He smiled coldly. "Actually, my dear, that little scar on your neck means that is exactly what you are." He turned to look at the members of the House of Aurelius once more. "Do you challenge me then, Angelus of Aurelius?"

Angel said nothing, so Spike once again took up the slack. "You're damn right, he does!"

The Prelate considered the dark-haired vampire carefully. This was the moment he had waited two *centuries* for. He had already dealt the first blow against his enemy -- to the vampire's heart. That much was clear in the whelp's eyes. Would destroying him utterly be any more challenging or satisfying?

Frankly, yes.

"Fine, then!" he declared loudly, getting up. "I accept the challenge of your order. In accordance with the Law, tomorrow at sunset, we will call the Court and settle our differences like proper demons." He held out his bent arm. Buffy took it, but still scowled petulantly at him. "Come, my sweet. We should allow our guests to take their rest. Christophe, see that The Aurelius and her entourage are made comfortable."

As vampire and Slayer swept dramatically from the room, Buffy's voice echoed behind them.

"Listen, Deac. I'm not just gonna let you trade me like a Pokeman card or something!"

Angel continued to stare after them, frozen to the spot.

Darla gently touched his arm. "Angel... we should go."

He turned, but his eyes didn't seem to quite focus on her. The stony facade he had managed to maintain throughout the ordeal crumbled, and his heartbreak showed plainly in his eyes.

As if he had no will left of his own, he let his Sire and Faith each take one of his arms and lead him away, following the Prelate's Childe out of the Great Hall.


	21. Deal

"You're certain you're clear on what you need to do?" Wesley asked for the tenth time. "The calculations must be precise for the magick to have any chance of succeeding."

"Wesley, I'm *sure*," Angel repeated firmly, holding his already frayed temper in check. "The vessel will be ready at sunset."

"All right. We're preparing as we speak. Unfortunately, we lost some time not long after your departure when we were forced to erect barriers around the hotel. I'm afraid that Frost's. minions, both vampire and non. have already surrounded us," the Englishman sighed. "They must have been watching, and called for reinforcements when you left."

Angel frowned. This was all he needed right now - to have to worry about his family's safety, miles across town, as well as Buffy's, Faith's, and, regrettably, Spike's. "You're all safe, though, right?"

"Telling by the occasional sounds of evaporating flesh, I'd say that Willow's wards are quite effective, yes," he chuckled.

"Good. Make sure you stay inside. In fact, stay together as much as possible - we have no idea what Frost might be planning between now and tomorrow night. Don't even look out the window, all right? I need to know that all of you are safe," the vampire insisted.

"Of course. You needn't worry. We're taking every possible precaution," the ex-Watcher assured him. Then, after a moment's pause, he asked, "How is she?"

Angel closed his eyes. "As well as can be expected, I guess," he replied, his pain clear in his voice.

Wesley sighed wearily. "She's... unharmed, then?"

Unharmed? Now there was a question he had no idea how to answer. Her body looked fine... but there was no way to tell what effects losing her soul might have on her in the long run. Assuming they did manage to restore her soul in the first place.

"Physically, yes," he answered curtly.

"Good," Wesley commented, "That, at least, is a relief. Then... you've been able to speak with her?"

Angel remembered in an agonizing flash... in perfect detail... his lover's attitude... her carriage and dress... her hurtful words. The wound still stung, even hours later, and would leave an aching scar somewhere deep inside him, he was sure, for a lot longer than that. Because as much as he knew that it wasn't his beloved who said those things to him... who had given her body to someone else... he also knew that losing your soul didn't put anything inside of you that didn't already have potential to be there.

Some small part of Buffy, however deeply buried it might be, hated him.

'We are *so* over.'

"Yes," he replied, not able to offer any more than that without breaking down.

Wesley sighed. "I'm sorry, Angel. But... we're confident that this spell will work. We *will* get her back, whatever it takes."

The vampire closed his eyes once more and ran his hand through his hair, listening to his closest friend's words, and tried to will himself to believe they were true in his soul. But something in his core essence had died when Buffy was taken from him... and had begun to rot when he witnessed what she'd become.

That empty space inside him -- that place of comfort and solace where she should be, was both desperately clinging to the small shred of hope that Wesley offered, and completely unable to accept it.

"Just be ready at sunset," he mumbled, tenderly fingering the stone containing the missing part of him.

"We'll be ready," his friend replied, then repeated with what was undoubtedly false certainty drummed up for his benefit, "And we *will* succeed."

Angel flipped the cell phone shut without reply and tucked it back into his coat pocket. His eyes fell once more to the glowing soulstone, its light pulsing brightly as if its contents, too, were trying to reassure him. He took the rainbow colored rock in his hands and held it up before his eyes, reaching out through the shredded remains of the link to grasp what little warmth this small remnant of connection could provide.

"I can't lose you," he whispered to it, "I won't."

~~~~~

Faith paced up and down the length of the enormous room where she and Spike were staying. This place went way beyond making her skin crawl or giving her the creeps, or any of those other stupid sayings that basically boiled down to feeling like *crap*. There were so many vamps in the compound, that the little cramping sensation that was usually such a handy early demon warning system was knotting her stomach up tightly enough that she was pretty sure it must be the size of a peanut, by now.

Then, of course, there was the whole mouse in a houseful of hungry cats sensation she had going on.

Then a new one flickered over her already oversensitive nerves. A tingle that she almost didn't notice over all the other things going on inside of her. Faith stopped pacing and looked up to find Buffy leaning in the doorway, watching her.

"Jeeze, Faith. You look like you swallowed a handful of hot peppers," her sister Slayer observed.

"Yeah, well. Being in a snake pit makes me a little *antsy*," she snapped, turning away.

This was the creepiest feeling yet. Being in the room with Buffy, but knowing that thing wasn't really Buffy at all...

//God, poor Angel...//

The soulless blonde shrugged and stepped inside, checking out the decorations and absently scratching at her arms like she had a rash or something, before turning to face her. "I guess I can see that. But, you know... you don't really have anything to wig over."

Faith glared at her, but didn't reply.

"I'm serious. I'm totally on your side," Buffy insisted, "In fact, I gotta say, all of this has made me feel closer to you than I ever have before. I mean... I misjudged you, Faith, and I'm sorry for that. The whole evil thing? It's *great*. I had no idea! If I had, I would've jumped in all the way in back when you did." She walked closer to the brunette, until there was only a few feet separating them. "You were right, you know. The rules *don't* apply to us. We've got all the power -- why should we let a bunch of wimpy mortals and absent gods get in our way? I feel so liberated... like I can do *anything*. *Have* anything--or anyone--I want. None of that sacred duty crap. No angst and woe. No wasting years of a very short life cleaning up a mess that *I* didn't make in the first place. No whiny, mopey Dudley Do Right vamp holding me down." The petite Slayer grinned. "It's almost like being one of those Jesus freaks... only reversed. Totally reborn. All fun, all the time."

The taller woman held her sister's empty gaze. "The price isn't worth it, B. Believe me."

Buffy laughed. "*Price*? What *price*? God, you sound exactly like Angel! Don't you get it? It's just like you said -- Want. Take. Have. We don't have to *pay* for *anything*!"

Faith shook her head. "You don't think so, but I know different. And when you get your soul back, you'll know it too." She couldn't help the anger that rushed through her, remembering everything she'd gone through to try and make up for her crimes since she woke from her coma last year. The way most of Buffy and Angel's friends still treated her like a paroled criminal...

Which, in a way, she guessed she sort of was. She turned away from Buffy again.

"You're such a *sap*!" the elder Slayer taunted, "You and Angel both! You let what *other* people tell you is right decide everything for you. It's really pathetic. And *boring*! God, Faith! You don't really *buy* all that redemption crap he's been trying to sell you, do you? Nobody really *forgives* you! They all see the same psycho killer that they saw back in Sunnydale, when you tried to help the Mayor *eat* us all! Look at me! I've had more fun in the past two days than I've had in all my life before put together! I sleep when I want -- with whoever I want. I do what I want, when I want to do it. My life is all about *me* for a change, instead of everybody else *but* me! How can you give that up? How can you not want to be free?"

Overwhelmed by something angry and protective that burst to life inside of her, Faith spun and got into the blonde's face.

"You want to know why? Because what you are isn't *free*, Buffy! It looks like freedom, but all it is is living death! And when it catches up with you, this whole scene is going to *haunt* you... day and night. Every word you said...the face of every single person you hurt. It's gonna be like having your guts ripped out over and over again! The nightmares, the guilt, the feeling like you're a monster... that you totally *spit* in the face of all the good stuff you have? Believe me, Buff, you're *not* free. You're a long fucking *way* from free. And your soul's gonna pay for this until the day you *die*. You should know that better than almost anyone... you see Angel liveswith it every day!"

For a moment, Buffy's cool facade faltered, but then the elder woman chuckled. "I doubt it, considering I don't now, and never will again, have a soul. So this life suits me just *fine*, thanks." They stared at one another in silence for a tense moment, until Buffy's expression softened. "It doesn't have to be like this, Faith. Deacon can help you, too. All you have to do is say the word, and you and I can be a team again. Can you *imagine* what we could do together? We could take over the *world*!"

Faith grabbed her hands and gave them a shake. "I don't *want* to take over the world! I want to go home! And I want you to come with me. Please, Buffy. You know this isn't you. You know this isn't right! You belong with us! With *Angel*! God... he's dying in there! He's going *nuts* without you -- I can see it in his eyes. Don't do this to him!"

Buffy yanked her hands away and slowly backed toward the door, her face a mask of rage. "I hear you preaching, *F*, but it doesn't mean a *damn* thing to me. Listen -- and I know you remember this line, it's one of your best: I. Don't. CARE! Not about Angel, not about you, not about *any* of it!" She stopped, and gave a wry chuckle. "Wow, this is such a waste of time. You think whatever you want, Faith. But I can still see that darkness in your eyes. You pretend you've changed, but you *haven't*. All that's keeping you on that side of the fence is that *chip* in your head. Why do you think you fuck Spike, huh? Because you're both *bad* under the hardware. Well, here's some news for you, honey. Deac wants all of us. Me, you... Spike... Angel... for his team. Tomorrow night, he's gonna kick Angel's ass, and then he's gonna de-chip Spike. And when all of your friends are standing on *my* side of the fence, I'd bet a million bucks that you won't stay where you are for long. So enjoy your loser high horse while you can. 'Cause you'll be back where you belong by the next sunrise."

With that, Buffy turned and swept out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Faith stared after her sister, listening to the echo of it... and of her words... hovering in the heated air she left behind.

~~~~~

Spike never did get the whole meditation-Tai-Chi-Zen-rock-garden thing Angel put so much stock in. Exactly how the Hell was sitting still and breathing, or swinging your ass about like some fool on ether supposed to 'hone your fighting skills', as the ponce always insisted they did? In his experience, the only way to 'hone your fighting skills' was by *fighting*. A lot.

Whatever. He marched into Angel's palatial guestroom anyway.

"Hey, Peaches... I wanna talk to you."

For a moment, he wasn't certain that his Sire heard him. Angel still sat perfectly motionless, his eyes closed and face blank.

Sorta upright-corpse-like, actually.

"I'm busy," he informed the blond curtly.

"Yeah, I can see that. But what I got to say's a bit more important than your peace of mind right now, Little Grasshopper."

Angel frowned -- which, Spike noted, wasn't all that different from the expression he had just been wearing. He slowly untangled his long legs and got to his feet, giving his half-naked form a long, languid stretch that called to mind thoughts of younger, less strictly heterosexual, humanesque, White Hat-y days that Spike didn't really care to remember. He averted his gaze.

"Okay. Talk," Angel finally commanded, slipping on his grey sweater and taking a seat on the end of the enormous bed.

The younger vampire cleared his throat. "You can't fight tomorrow."

His Sire started visibly. "I beg your pardon?"

"Don't beg, Fuzzy. Makes you look like a fairy. Not that you don't look like one anyway..."

"Is they're a point you're trying to make, Spike? Because if there is, I'd appreciate it if you'd just cut the bullshit and get to it," Angel snapped.

The blond cocked an eyebrow to hear his Sire curse. Being the straightlaced ponce he was, "foul" language was usually beneath him. The fact that he was swearing now only served to illustrate the point he had come to make.

"Okay, then, how's this? You're in no bloody shape to fight that psychopath. He'll kick your fat arse straight into the next millennium, and then we're all soddin' dead. *Including* your Slayer."

Angel glared at him. "What are you saying?"

The younger demon threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Christ, you're thick! I'm sayin' that you're too fucked up in the head to take on Frost! I watched you almost bloody well loose your water down there in the Great Hall, and you know as well as I do that if you show one fucking split *second* of weakness, that crowd's gonna eat you *alive*! So to speak."

The dark haired man cast his gaze to the floor. "I have to fight him. There's no other choice. It's the only way we can save Buffy. If that means I have to die in the process, then so be it."

Spike rolled his eyes and moved closer to his Sire's sagging form, picking up the stone that allegedly contained Buffy's soul as he passed. "Bloody Hell, you're a sorry son of a bitch," he sighed as he stared into it, watching the colors shift and change like some bauble Dru might once have owned, and wondered if what was in there was really the Slayer.

And if he could manage to choke out what he'd come to offer without getting sick all over himself.

"Look. I know you're all pathetic, puppy-eyed Sir Lancelot of the Horsehair Shirt about Buffy and all," he mumbled. "And I do get how you're feeling. I'd probably do the same damn thing if it was Faith... believe it or not. But facts are facts, mate. You haven't slept well in weeks. You barely feed. Seeing the Slayer like she is now's turned you into an even more pitiful basket case than you usually are. I wouldn't bet twenty bucks on you against my dead grandmother in a fight. And like you said, the challenge is the only way to get us all out of here solid... and in our preferred state of soul. But you can't do it. You're in shitty form, and Frost's in top shape. You'll be dust before you can even swing a sword."

Angel looked up at him angrily. "So what do you suggest? You made the damn challenge to begin with!"

Spike nodded. "Yeah. I did. So... you're gonna let me fight 'im, instead."

His elder's enormous monobrow drew tight. "What?!"

The blond shrugged nonchalantly and plopped down beside Angel on the bed, tossing the Buffyrock up in the air a couple of times. "Way I see it, it's your right as Master -- however bloody funny that idea is in itself-- to call a second. And, if I remember the rules right, the choice for second is usually your First Made. In this case... me." He held the rock up to the light and watched the colors change in response. "You know I can take a good chunk outta that little pussy's hide, and while I do, you can concentrate on gettin' the Slayer out."

Angel gaped at him for a moment, then snorted and snatched the crystal out of his hand. "Boy, your ego is a Hell of a lot bigger than your brain, as usual. Deacon Frost looks like he's young and weak, but he's close to ten times your age. And he didn't get to be Prelate by beating the elders at *chess*. You'd be sweepable before he even finished laughing at you."

Spike grumbled to himself, but didn't reply.

"Besides," the elder vampire went on, getting up to pace the room, keeping his eye on his Childe as he moved. "Why the Hell should I trust you? These are your people. Frost would take you in in a second. And probably find a way to de-chip you in the process. You'd have the freedom you're always whining about. You could be the Big Bad again. In fact... how do I know that's not what you're doing right now? How do I know you didn't make some kind of deal -- get me out of the way in exchange for your fangs back, huh, *William*? If you think I'm putting Buffy's life in your hands, you're even stupider than I imagined."

The blond clenched his jaw, forcing back the urge to jump on the nutter asshole and give him the beating he was so sorely begging for.

"All right. I know you're out of your tree with worry and all, so I'm just gonna pretend I didn't hear any of that," he growled, "And I'm also gonna let you in on a little fucking secret, *Sire*. *You're* my blood, you concrete-skulled fuck. *You're* my people. You and Faith... and bloody Buffy too. I don't know why it's all turned out this way. Soddin' Satan knows I hated all you lot enough to fuckin' *choke* on it. But you're still my Maker. And whether either of us likes it or not, our soddin' destinies are tied together. So as much bloody joy as it would give me to watch you buy it once and for all... I can't let that happen. So let me do my damn duty, and stand for you tomorrow night!"

Angel was stunned frozen by the raw honesty in his Childe's confession. Honesty he knew damn well he'd never heard from him before. And with that, he realized that all of what his once sworn enemy had been saying was, more than likely, also true.

"Even if I did trust you -- and I'm not saying I do -- I wasn't exaggerating about Frost's strength. I fought him before and barely survived. And that was 200 years ago. I can't take the chance that he'll beat you. Not when Buffy's at stake."

The younger vampire snorted. "You really think that pansy-ass is gonna fight you *himself*? He'll have a second, too. Somebody whose ass is probably a lot more dispensable than his. Let me worry about the brawl. You worry about savin' the damn Slayer, okay?" He got up and headed for the door. "Just think about it."

"We'll see," Angel muttered absently, then looked up at the retreating blond once more. "Spike?"

He stopped. "Yeah?"

"Thanks," his Sire said softly. "I know how much this cost you."

Spike made a gagging noise. "Cost me *squat*, mate. I'm always up for a good skull-busting."

He swung open the door...

To reveal the Buffy-slut standing on the other side.

"Hey, Spikey," she said with a leer, casting a steamy glance at Angel over his shoulder, "Fancy meeting you here."


	22. The Space Between

"Look at us spinning out in the madness of a rollercoaster  
You know you went off like the devil in the church  
In the middle of a crowded room  
All we can do my love  
Is hope we don't take this ship down

The space between  
What's wrong and right  
Is where you'll find me hiding  
Waiting for you"

\- DMB "The Space Between"

Angel stared in shock at the shell of his lover as she pushed past Spike and sashayed into the room.

There it was again... the paradox of joy and pain to have this thing that wore his beloved's skin so close to him. He forced himself to hold her cold gaze and maintain a neutral expression, even as his insides disintegrated into a muddled heap of sorrow. The darkness in her beautiful eyes ripped his heart into even smaller, bloodier tatters than he thought possible.

But for now, he had to swallow the urge to scream... to rip her to shreds... or to grab her and weep senselessly. They were at war, and he had to treat her as what she currently was -- his enemy. Cold and indifferent was the way to play it... no matter how he felt.

Spike grabbed Buffy's arm, halting her forward movement.

"Just where the Hell do you think you're going, Pet?"

Buffy turned a frigid smile on him. "Not that it's any of your business, *William*, but I came to talk to my *mate*."

The younger vampire snarled, "He stopped being your *mate* the minute you went off whoring in another demon's bed, you little..."

"Spike, that's enough!" Angel snapped, jumping to his feet. "What do you want, Buffy?"

The soulless Slayer yanked her arm away and gave Angel a far sweeter smile than the one she was giving to his Childe. A smile that tore a whole new gash in his already wounded soul. It was her smile, and still... not. Instead of warming him the way it usually did, it sent a chill through his bones.

Was this gut-wrenching agony what she had felt looking at Angelus? Had this same desperate war broken out inside her heart and soul?

"I just wanted you guys to know... we can skip all this macho crap. Nobody actually *wants* this stupid fight to happen," she informed him evenly.

Angel narrowed his eyes at her. "No? What do you propose instead?"

Buffy took a step closer. Her body heat pounded against his skin like a firestorm, her pulse a staccato rhythm of doom echoing in his ears. His body... and the already raging demon inside of him... responded to her proximity in spite of what she had become. (Or maybe, in the case of the demon, because of it.) His blood felt as though it was boiling in his veins, screaming for her, and his hands itched to reach out and touch her. She was breathtaking in her tight clothing...the silk blouse, the leather pants... the cut of which fell over her lithe body in a way that left little to the imagination.

Not that he needed his imagination to envision her every fine detail... it was all indelibly etched into his very cells. He could feel every part of her on and in every part of him. The lust and the barely tolerable longing that roared through him were only slightly dampened by the revulsion of knowing she had given herself to Frost.

In fact, some part of him wanted her all the more for that. She was his. *His* and no one else's. The demon roared in fury at the invasion of its sovereign territory, and the man grieved for the horror of what had been done to his lover against her will.

"All you have to do is switch sides," she said lightly, as if she was suggesting he switch outfits, and turned her glance to Spike. "Easy. I mean, especially you, Spike." She slinked over to the younger vampire, lowering her voice seductively. "I know how much you miss killing... the taste of fear in your victim's blood. The thrill of feeling them die in your arms. It would be so simple for you to have that... to be the Big Bad again. No more of this 'am I good or am I evil' crap. And that's all it is, you know." She tossed a pointed glance back at Angel as she concluded, "Crap. Just spinning your wheels, killing time, when none of it means anything at all."

Spike laughed, and she spun back to glare at him as he said, "Oh yeah? So, you're the big expert on evil now, are you? Been soulless for all of what, two days, and you've got all the answers." He snorted. "Excuse me if I'm not too bloody impressed."

Buffy collected herself quickly and shrugged. "Have it your way. The offer still stands. Why don't you let loverboy and I have a few minutes alone to... discuss it?"

Half of Angel screamed in terror of being left alone with her... afraid of the weakness he could feel filling his veins like ice water... an aching in his muscles, a burning under his skin. The hurt of the past few days... the sorrow and emptiness of being without her faded his will like an oil painting left too long in the sun... stretching it so thin, he could see every possible flimsy excuse right through it. It was okay to touch her... she was still Buffy. There was nothing wrong with easing that longing by holding her, no matter what she had become...

Unfortunately, the other half was in full agreement... and had no qualms about wanting his Childe to go away so they could be alone.

"Like Hell!" Spike objected, "I'm not bloody well moving from this..."

"Go, Spike," Angel commanded softly, "I can handle this. I have a few things I'd like to say to Buffy in private."

He would just have to hope that, for once, he could let his good sense prevail.

"Wait just a cotton pickin' minute!" the younger vampire objected.

Angel shot him a threatening glare.

"Fine. What-the-fuck-ever," he griped as he stomped out. "I'll come by later and sweep you up, then, you stupid..."

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Buffy and Angel staring at one another in pregnant silence.

"I'm serious, you know," she finally reiterated, "Frost doesn't want you dead. Neither do I. We just want to... improve your disposition a little."

Angel chuckled bitterly, even as his dead heart gave yet another pained wrench. How much more could he possibly take? "Why should you care about my disposition? I thought we were "done"?"

She shrugged and wandered past him to the wet bar. "With the whole soul bond thing, maybe. The tortured good guy bit has gotten sort of boring." She poured herself a glass of champagne from the bottle that had remained untouched, chilling on the bar, and turned to face him once more. "But... that doesn't mean you don't still have your uses. Come on, Angel. What do you really have to fight for, now? You're not going to get the old me back. And let's face it... without me, the world doesn't really stand much of a chance, either. So there goes your martyr-hero gig. What's left?"

He shook his head. "I'd forgotten how big your ego can get when you don't have a soul."

Buffy set her glass down and moved toward him. "That's just one of the plusses. I don't have to tell you how this feels! None of this 'oh, woe is me, my burden is so heavy' shit. Just perfect happiness, and nothing but. You can't tell me part of you doesn't want that. The one thing you're *not* supposed to have. That neither of us are supposed to have."

He flinched involuntarily at her choice of words, and glanced away. Did she really believe that they had no happiness in their lives together? "What you're feeling isn't happiness, Buffy. It's just chaos."

"You say tomato..." she quipped, closing the last bit of space separating them and laying a tiny hand on his chest. "Come on, lover... just imagine. You and me ruling the world. We can take out Frost together. All of this can belong to us. Hell, the whole *universe* can belong to us."

Angel stepped away from her, his quickly-disintegrating will panting:

//Tooclosetooclosetooclosetooclose...//

"I'm not interested."

Buffy titled her head quizzically. "Why? Because of what I said before? Listen... I didn't really mean that. I was just pissed about the whole Darla thing, that's all. I'll get over it... once she's dead."

She moved toward him again, and Angel abruptly turned away. This was too hard to take... all the feelings overwhelming him. He was so tired... she smelled so good, even with the stench of foreign vampire on her, and he was drained from missing her so much. He was suddenly very weary... of all the fighting, all the loss. Centuries of emptiness, it seemed, broken only by the brief, beautiful time they'd spent together. It would be easy to just let go... let her warmth wash over him. And without her love... her soul... to hold him here...

She was right. What was the point? What was left to fight for?

//No... I have to get her back. I have to fight.//   
//Don't bother. You're not that strong. You never were. She's yours. *Take* her.//   
//No... it isn't right. That isn't her.//   
//How do you figure? Look at her... her skin... her eyes, her hair... feel her touch... smell her scent... hear her voice...it *is* her.//

"Think about it, Angel," she purred, moving behind him and pressing her silk encased breasts against his back. "Your soul will go wherever mine went. Our bodies will still be here. We can be together in every possible way." Her warm, strong hands snaked around his waist, sliding up under his shirt to brush over the muscles of his chest, teasing his nipples to pebbled points. "No more pain. No more confusion. Just us, the way we always dreamed it would be. I know you still want me. And I still want you. Just... let it happen. Be with me, like you promised you always would be. Just let go..."

Her caress wandered gently downward, from his chest to his abdomen, where she painstakingly traced every line, curve, and cut of him. Her touch -- her familiar, will-shattering touch -- wakened all the nerves that had gone dull and dead without her beside him. Even knowing where this could go... even knowing that this touch was wrong... there was no one who could effect him like she did. As she still did, even now. His every cell roared for her.

He closed his eyes and let out a long, deep sigh... he could just... close his mind and pretend. Pretend this really was his lover, whole, healthy, and happy, pushing his sweater up to trace a line of wet, soft kisses down his spine. That it was love that made her hands touch him so gently... so tenderly, slowly undoing the drawstring of his pants and slipping her hands inside. That his soul wasn't in danger from this, without hers to anchor him...

His body didn't care about the state of her soul... or his. And his heart and mind were too tired... too desperately hungry for her to fight the call of her skin... her blood... her heartbeat... her warm fingers surrounding him and stroking him into hardness. Little fingers that knew exactly how to stroke, how to wander... touch that knew every inch of him so intimately...

Before he had a chance to think, he spun, grabbing Buffy in a crushing embrace, and roughly claimed her mouth with his own. She tasted the same... warm and sweet. His tongue plunged between her soft lips to devour her even as his hands raced of their own accord to rip the leather sheathing from her body.

//She's MINE!//

Her flesh was the same, too... soft and yielding, supple and strong beneath his seeking fingers. Her breasts still fit just so against his palms as he cupped them, bending down to draw the nipples, first one, and then the other, between his blunt teeth, nipping down just hard enough to make her start to shake.

This was her body... and he knew its every perfect roll and curve. Every freckle and soft hair like a map of his entire existence... his entire reason for being... and every inch of it was the path toward home.

Buffy threw her head back with a joyous gasp. "God, yes, Angel!" She pushed him away only long enough to rip the sweater over his head and toss it away before she attacked the smooth, hard marble of his chest.

She was starving... her body's emptiness screaming for him to fill her. She was desperate for the taste of him... the feel of his cool skin... his body blanketing her and glutting on her... his weight crushing her. Starving...

He cried out as her mouth made contact with his flesh, and his mind and heart instantly took up the fevered chanting of his body.

//Still the same. Still Buffy. Still mine.//

They couldn't take her from him. They couldn't separate him from this, his other, far better, half. They could tear them both to shreds, and still their pieces would be drawn together again... beyond soul or flesh, across time, across space... they were eternally one.

"They can't take you," he panted desperately. "I won't let them."

Even as his body was lost in this pure, reckless, frantic need, the demon rose up, roaring once more in fury at its own insult -- at Frost's daring to touch *his* mate. All Angel could see was red... the red of incoherent, animal rage... the red of unadulterated, burning lust... the red of her blood flushing her skin with desire... the red of his own mindless passion. With a snarl, he shoved her onto the bed.

Buffy laughed, a vicious sound like shards of broken glass ripping through his soul. He tore his pants off and kicked them away, then dove down onto her, between her wantonly spread legs, and without preamble, thrust himself home.

Even the demon knew...*this* wasn't the same. He knew it immediately. The deep connection that usually blossomed and washed over them when they made love was conspicuously absent, leaving a space that demanded to be filled. His agonized grief and insensible anger poured in, washing away and small discretion he might still have possessed. Burned off any tenderness lingering, and overwhelmed the whimpering objection of his soul that this was *wrong*. Even the gentle song of the soul vessel containing her essence nearby was wiped from his consciousness, leaving only one thought as he roughly pounded into her. A thought so strong, he growled it into her ear.

"You're mine, do you hear me? *Mine*!"

Buffy wrapped her strong legs around his waist and thrust her hips up to meet him, driving him deeper yet.

"Yes! I am yours! Take me, Angel! Fuck me!" she cried, digging her nails into his back.

Angel snarled loudly at the stinging pain she caused, and reached over his shoulder, snatching her hands away and slamming them down, pinning them together over her head.

"Mine. Mine! *Mine!* MINE!" he chanted mindlessly in time with his punishing pace.

He screwed his eyes tightly shut. He couldn't look at her... couldn't watch what he was doing to her, and how she was responding. This position... so close to the one she had been in when the demon attacked her the night they were bonded. He couldn't look into her eyes and see nothing there... no flicker of love... no glowing warmth of her precious soul.

Right now, they were animals, nothing more. Even this shell belonged to him, and he reclaimed it with violent abandon, pistoning in and out of her with bone-bruising force.

But she took his savagery... accepted his rage and met it with her own, matching his every rending thrust with an ecstatic cry. Her inner muscles began to flutter, then clamp around him, signaling her release, and the fact that she was getting off on their brutal coupling only enraged him further. He dove down to her proffered throat, and ripped into the tough skin of his mark.

Buffy wailed at the top of her lungs as she came, slamming her rigid body upward. Angel drank her as hard as he was fucking her, grunting as he greedily glutted on the magickal elixir of her living essence.

She didn't taste the same. She was still thick and sweet, food of the gods, humming with life, but... beneath that was the bitter tang of hatred... an emptiness like something spoiled. Angel tore his fangs away from the sickening fount, his eyes snapping open to meet hers.

She smiled coldly at him. "What's the matter, *lover*? Not quite what you were expecting?"

A flash of revulsion rocked him, and he abuptly yanked away, jumping to his feet. He reached down for his slacks and pulled them on, turning away from her, fighting the nausea that threatened from the tainted taste of her blood.

"Get out," he growled.

"But you didn't even get off!" she mocked. "I can blow you if you want..."

"I said... get out," he repeated weakly, shame quickly rushing in where rage and lust had been just a moment before. He grabbed her abandoned glass of champagne and gulped it down, trying to wash the taste of decay -- of dishonor and sacrilege -- from his mouth.

"Your loss," she said casually. "Guess you proved who I *belong* to, huh, big boy? See ya around."

He didn't turn again until the door shut behind her. He looked down, and saw the torn remains of her clothes still lying on the floor at his feet.

Buffy had walked out of the room naked.

With an agonized roar, Angel flung her glass across the room, listening to the tinkling shatter of crystal. But the tiny sound of destruction did nothing to ease his anguish.

God... what had he done? What had *he* become?

He stumbled to the bed and collapsed onto it, curling into a wounded ball and bursting into heaving sobs that echoed through the halls of the Sanguinati compound.

~~~~~

Frost glanced up from his desk to watch the Slayer enter, and felt no small pang of jealous anger to see that she was naked and bloody... and reeking of his enemy.

Inwardly, he howled. But... as centuries of demon politics had taught him to do, he held it in check. "I take it Angelus wasn't amenable to your offer?"

The enraged blonde shot him a look, but said nothing. Not bothering to cover herself, Buffy grabbed her now ever-present bottle of Dom from the bowl where it chilled, and took a long, hard pull that drained half its contents.

"And no perfect happiness either," he went on, "Shame. But then...I do believe I warned you that none of your friends -- especially your mate -- would give up without a fight."

Buffy flung the heavy bottle away from her, hard enough so that it smashed against the marble bar, and raged toward him.

"I told you not to call him that! He's not my fucking *mate*! He's not my *anything*, okay?!" she shrieked.

Frost smiled coolly. "If you say so. Of course... that gaping wound on your neck tells rather a different story."

Her hand flew unconsciously up to the bite Angel had just reopened at her throat. She drew it away, and stared down woefully at her bloody fingers.

Had she become so horrible that even *Angel* didn't want her anymore?

"I hate him," she mumbled, her angry posture quickly deflating. "I hate all of them."

Despite his anger at what had obviously transpired between his treasure and the whelp, something about the hurt in Buffy's tone touched him. He got up from his chair and approached her, drawing her gently into his arms, and she broke down against his chest.

"It's not supposed to hurt!" she sobbed, "I'm not supposed to care anymore!"

The Prelate frowned darkly to himself, but forced a soothing tone as he stroked her matted hair. "Unfortunately, it doesn't require a soul to love, little Buffy. There's no reason why you shouldn't care."

After a moment, she yanked out of his arms. "But I *don't* care! I'm just... I can't believe he would just throw me over like that! I mean -- I offered him *everything* -- my body... his freedom. God, even our stupid *souls* could be together, and that's *still* not enough!" She stomped across the room and threw herself down on the bed. "I can't fucking win with him! I never could!"

Frost took a deep breath and forced his rising temper under control. "It hardly matters, sweet. By this time tomorrow, none of this will be a problem."

"I'll still have to look at his *stupid* face," she complained with a pout, "Whether he has a soul or not!"

He walked over and sat down beside her. "Not necessarily..."

Her gaze flew up to him. "What?"

Frost merely smiled at her placidly for a time, until realization dawned in her green eyes.

"You don't want to turn him, do you? You want to kill him."

The vampire shrugged noncommittally. "Perhaps."

Buffy tried not to look as shocked as she felt. "But... what about all that prophecy stuff? I thought you need Angel to be the General of your Great Army or whatever?"

"Mm. Well, Buffy...as you know from first hand experience, prophecies don't always say what they mean. The writings *imply* that it is the vampire with a soul that will lead the victorious army, but... I don't believe that edict is written in stone," he explained. "The deciding factor in those auguries -- and of the Sha'an Tal Edict, as well -- involve the Gate. I interpret the signs to mean that the lover of the Slayer is the one who will rise to lead. And I do believe that I now qualify, if that is the case."

She frowned in confusion. "So... why didn't you just kill him in the first place? Why go through all this trouble?"

Her companion sighed. "It's not quite so simple as killing him, my dear. In order to turn the Gate to darkness, all of its pieces must be under my control. Having him first will make that far easier to achive. And besides... I find the idea of thoroughly humiliating Angelus... making him crawl, as it were, before I slaughter him... rather satisfying, don't you?"

Her frown didn't fade, but instead, changed. Yes, she was full of anger toward Angel -- both over the Darla insult, and for the way he'd just fucked her and then thrown her out like trash. Sure, she wasn't interested in playing the sacrificial hero game with him anymore. But did she really want him *dead*?

The thought disturbed her a lot more than she was comfortable with. A lot more than she expected.

"Sure," she mumbled unconvincingly. "I guess."

Frost pulled away to look into her face, no longer able to hide his frown. "Don't hate him as much as you imagined, hm?"

The Slayer shrugged once more and rolled away from him. "It's not that," she insisted, feigning indifference. "I just think it sounds like an awful lot of trouble if all you're going to do is dust him anyway, that's all. If all you need is the Gate thing to be the Great General or whatever, what's the point of getting him involved in the first place?"

The vampire's cruel smile quickly returned. "The Gate is not a *thing*, Buffy. It's an entity -- a living entity. Don't they teach Slayers anything anymore?" He sat up fully and held her gaze with an maniacal intensity that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. "The Gate is a portal -- a doorway that can open to any dimension... any place, at any time. It is the ultimate power of the universe. The one who controls it can call on hordes of... any creature, actually, but the Prophecies speak specifically of The Host -- legions of soldiers, with unimaginable might. They may be angels... they may be devils... and what decides that is what lies in the hearts of those who are the Gatekeepers. No, not things, Buffy. People. Beings. The portal is the living energy of four very specific beings. Two Paradox Pairs, who, when they come together with the pair who make up the Key, have the very cosmos at their fingertips."

Buffy stared at him, her eyes going wide with fear and awe. "Four... people?"

He nodded. "Four beings who band together against the very laws of nature. Two bonded pairs, whose love and devotion to their mates, and to each other, defies all: history... sense... law... reason." He paused, and held up four long fingers. "Two vampires..." he bent the first two, "And two Slayers." He bent the last, leaving a closed fist.

She gasped, protectively drawing her arms across her bare chest, as if noticing her vulnerability for the first time.

"Are you saying... *me*? I'm part of this Gate?" she squeaked.

The Prelate grinned. "You are the North point. Faith, the South. William, the East. And... according to the scholars, Angelus, the West. Earth, Fire, Air and Water. The four elements. The four corners of creation. The ultimate power."

She swallowed hard, and her hands began to shake. "And you want to... kill Angel, and put yourself in his place. Turn all of us. Control the Gate for the Sanguinati." She quickly rose from the bed, and began to back away. "Can you... do that? Is that even possible?"

"Why not?" he asked, following her, "Why shouldn't you and I rule this planet together, Buffy? Defeat those who would bind us... lord over us? Those very people who you have been so heartily raging against since I freed you will come groveling at your feet. I owe Angelus a personal debt. And..." he ran his gaze up and down her bruised and bloody form, "I would say, so do you."

Something inside of her snapped to life. Something dark and primal that she had only barely experienced before, in deep trance, while training. A center beyond her center... behind and beneath that empty space where her soul once burned.

Something that, soul or no, could *not* accept the idea of demons ruling the universe.

Buffy listened to it calling her with a thousand voices. Women... her sisters... a line that drew back to the first human whose sole purpose had been to prevent the very thing this monster (her lover) was suggesting. The voices screamed and raged at her in tongues she didn't understand... boiled in her veins and pulled her aching muscles tight, sending one united imperative into her brain.

//Destroy him... before he destroys everything!//

She blinked furiously, struggling to breathe... to clear her head...to force this newfound power down. If Frost saw what was happening inside of her, she was dead.

"That's... pretty heavy," she muttered absently, turning away.

He laughed. "Of course it's heavy -- this is Armageddon we're talking about, not 'Who Wants to Be a Millionaire'!" He slid off the bed and stalked toward her. "Mortal minds always think in such small terms. Buffy... I'm talking about *everything*. In the literal sense of the term. Everything will belong to the victorious army. You said that you wanted to be evil? Well... I will *show* you evil. Like nothing you've seen, even in the pits of Angelus' memory. I will teach you to use your darkness. Starting," the vampire bent beside the bed, and seemingly out of nowhere, drew a long, deadly sword, holding it up between them to glint in the light. "At sunset tonight. When *you* will stand as my second..." Frost came toward her, pressing the hilt of the monstrosity in her hand, and looking deeply into her eyes. "And *you* will cleave the head from the Great General, Angelus. With your victory, I will ascend in his place, and we will rule the world *together*. Slayer and vampire, as it was written."

Buffy simply gawked at him, needing all of her energy to resist just hauling off and chopping him in half right then and there. If she did that, she wouldn't even make it past the omnipresent guards outside the chamber door.

Frost's manic expression softened somewhat. "Kind of an amusing irony, don't you think?"

"Yeah," the Slayer replied weakly, "Big laughs."


	23. Supposed to Know Better

Spike grumbled angrily to himself all the way back to the guestroom he was sharing with Faith. After he'd taken a couple dozen laps around the compound, that is.

What the Hell was Angel thinking? What, exactly, did he expect to accomplish, talking to Buffy in the state she was in right now, besides fucking up his own head even worse?

//Stubborn bastard. Serve 'im right if the bitch took him out right then and there.//

He would never admit it aloud, but seeing the Slayer like that really messed with his mind, too. He was so used to her being such a sanctimonious goody-goody, always taking the 'moral high road', just like his Sire, that seeing her playing at being a villain was downright disconcerting.

But then... what about the past month *hadn't* been?

Spike let his thoughts churn as he took in the sights of the Court. He'd never been in the company of this many vampires at once before, and he was surprised to find the sensation equally disturbing and comforting. On one hand, it felt like home. But on the other.

He didn't know what, exactly, was on the other, but it made him feel a lot like he was dangling by his short hairs above a roiling vat of holy water.

He was never a vamp much for introspection - that was the domain of his poufter Sire. Once he had gotten over the initial shock and adjustment of being rendered essentially toothless, and, with Faith's help, had come to reluctantly accept his place as a cog in the Great Good Guy Machine, he'd pretty much sworn off whining and grousing about his shitty luck. So Fate had dealt him a crappy hand for his unlife. he was still Hellbent to beat the bitch with it.

But the return of his GrandSire had thrown that fragile quasi-acceptance into a giant cosmic meat grinder... awakened the old discontent again. The tension of having centuries of blood-soaked history walking around had almost pushed him over the edge of sanity once and for all. Faith finally allowing him to feed from her had dulled that ache some, but it hadn't come close to going away.

Now, here he was, head to ass with hundreds - maybe thousands - of wild vamps. Completely drowning in primal pheromonal signals that predators always gave off, and the fresh scent of blood all over the place - a tantalizing temptation, even if it was just fairy gore. And playing all these feudal power games - games born squarely from demon instinct - had kicked that burning underneath his skin up to an almost unbearable pitch.

The Slayer said all he had to do was choose. Say 'yes' to Frost, and 'no' to his Sire, and all of the things he once held most dear would be his again. The hunt. the kill. Violence and destruction, an eternity of ultimate power over all the creatures of the Earth. The top of the food chain. He could have minions to lord over and towns full of mortals cowering in their homes in terror of his reign. instead of playing whipping boy for a bunch of superheroes and their idiot sidekicks. He could regain all the gifts that Angelus himself had bestowed on him an eon ago. All those perks that had been stolen from him by those Initiative fucks. All the joyous things that made immortality worthwhile.

It would be so easy. What was to stop him? Love of his Sire? Yeah, right. And it wasn't like this Scooby Auxiliary Gig was exactly an ego-booster. He sure as Hell didn't give a flying fuck about the bloody big D Destiny that faggy lounge lizard insisted he was a part of...

So why not just say, "Fuck yeah, give me back all that shit that haunts my dreams! Ease that longing that makes my gut burn every time I drink the tosser's pig's blood just to stay alive."

Why the *fuck* not?

He threw open the door to the suite and charged inside.

Some part of him sort of expected at least a *little* reaction to his grand entrance.though he was damned if he had any idea what. Instead, Faith didn't even bother to look up. She was too busy pacing madly back and forth across the enormous room, shoving fistfuls of grapes into her scowling face as she went.

Bit of a letdown, actually. Certainly did nothing to improve his already sour mood, that was for sure.

"What the fuck is *your* problem?" Spike snarled at her, ripping off his shirt and crashing on the bed.

The secondary Slayer halted, and turned a pointed gaze on him. "What would you say if these council freaks told you they could de-chip you?"

He did a bit of a double take, and sat back up. "Why?"

Faith shrugged and returned to her pacing. "Just wondering."

He eyed her suspiciously. "Funny. Angelus and the Bitch-Buffy Clone mentioned that, too. You lot know something I don't?"

With a sigh, his lover sagged down into the chair at the foot of the bed, staring at the empty stems she still clutched in her hands. "Buffy came to see me."

"And?"

"And... she said Frost could deactivate the hardware, *if* we signed up for his team," she explained wearily.

He paused for a moment, a little startled that Buffy had made the same offer to Faith that she had to him. maybe there was something to it, after all.

Or maybe it was just more bullshit. A trick to get them all vulnerable... get their guard down...

"What'd you tell her?" he muttered, his anger leaking away.

"I told her to stick it, more or less. I mean... I kinda... *like* my life the way it is now, believe it or not." Faith finally raised her gaze to bore into his silverblue eyes. "We still kick ass. We still party. Yeah, there's rules and stuff, but..." she sprung up from the bed and resumed her pacing. "I never had a family before, you know? It sounds corny, but... I *belong* for the first time in my whole damn life. I'm actually *doing* something with my sorry ass that doesn't make my skin crawl. And most of the time... I'm happy. I've never been able to say that before."

Spike frowned. "So what's the problem, then? You're so damned pleased with your lot, why the snit?"

Faith shook her head, plucking the grape stems into little pieces and chucking them on the floor. "It's just... hard. You know what I go through. The nightmares... the flashbacks. It *hurts*. And I still don't know how much of me is me, and how much is the chip in my head. Am I really different, or am I just hardwired to think I am? I don't dig having to wonder where every other damn thought or feeling comes from. What I'm supposed to do with my life or whatever."

The blond snorted wryly. "Bad news, Pet. Think you just defined the soddin' human condition in a nutshell. It's got nothing to do with that chip in your head."

She stopped once more and rushed toward him. "That's just it! You know, maybe I *don' t* really have a soul... maybe all I've got's a Government Issue conscience! If I let them take it out of me, I won't *care* about what I am anymore. I can be free, like I was when I worked for the Mayor! Like Buffy is now! You saw her, Spike! She doesn't give a shit about anything - not even Angel!"

Spike studied her for a long moment. There was a flush to her skin, as if the idea of returning to her evil ways was turning her on. But even so, he could still scent her fear and isolation clear as day. see the confusion in her eyes... that little tremor in her hands that she always got when she thought about the train wreck of her past.

"So tell them yes, then," he broached. "If you're so bent on being 'free'."

Faith's pretty face collapsed from its manic sort of euphoria, back to a look of complete misery. She flopped down on the bed beside him.

"I don't think I can," she lamented, "Not after everything the others have done for me... especially Angel."

He shook his head. "That's the problem with the whole bunch of you. You make every damn simple decision into a bleedin' tragedy! It's not a complicated question, Slayer. Do you want to be a bloody Justice Leaguer, or do you want to join up with the Legion of Doom?"

His lover glared at him. "Okay, if it's so friggin' easy, what are *you* gonna do, huh? Why are you sitting here with me, instead of carousing with the other vamps and munching on blood fairies or whatever?"

The vampire opened his mouth to finally announce his decision... but stopped before the words could even form. He lost his train of thought in her enormous brown eyes, and briefly, was awash in memories of all the moments they had spent together in the last year. The nightly patrols, packed full of vicious demon ass kicking. Days jammed with Earth-shattering scrogging in the crappy basement apartment they shared in downtown Sunnyhole. All the times she cracked him up with her dry, sarcastic humor. All the times they sat and drank beer and talked or watched TV.

It hit him like a brick upside the head, then. Not that he was in love with her - he knew that already. But that, ever since she had barged her way into his unlife... he'd actually been satisfied. Content. Or at least, not murderously enraged about his lot. The reason that he'd more or less finally stopped aching for the existence of a true demon that had haunted him for so long, was this fiery little wench, who sat there, gazing up at him, pleading with her expression for something she didn't know how to articulate.

It was perfectly clear to him what Faith wanted - what she had been busting her ass to achieve ever since she woke from her Buffy-induced coma - peace of mind.

Could he deny her that? Or. abandon her to fend for herself?

Did he even want to?

He scowled and turned away. "Dunno yet."

"This is it, you know," Faith mumbled absently. "What the Host was telling us? The Big Decision. Where you go, I go, so. I guess the only question is. where are you going to go?"

Her lover said nothing.

Faith watched him carefully, noting his forced neutral expression, which clashed sharply with his tense body language. Like a punch straight to the gut (or maybe that was her heart making that wounded squelching noise), she realized that he had probably already made his choice. Without the weight of a conscience - real or electronic - or really, any incentive at all to stay where he was, a resolution like this wouldn't bother him one bit.

Another fact she understood in the same moment... thinking about the possibility of losing him... hurt. That everything they'd shared together boiled down to nothing more than yes or no in his mind. That he didn't even have all these doubts and questions that were tearing her apart...

That he might not care about her at all.

For a tension-filled moment, Spike kept his eyes to the bedspread, in silence.

"That's what I thought," she muttered, unable to keep the pain from her tone. "Well... you do whatever you want. I have to do what I have to do. Just know... I'll kill you, if I have to. I don't want to, but... if you come after me, or Angel... or any of them... I won't think twice."

At that, he finally glanced up. "I would never hurt you," he asserted softly, leaning toward her. "I don't think I could, even if I wanted to. Which. just for your information, Miss Know-It-All-Smarty-Vampire-Slayer, I *don't*."

She gaped at him. "Why not? What do you care? It's not like you can't find some other chick to screw."

Spike donned a grave countenance that made her quiver down to her toes. "Why does everybody keep asking me that? I do bloody well care, damn it! I love you, you stupid bint! I never soddin' well meant to, but I do."

Her heart - which she'd just been thinking had totally broken - started to pound.

"What?" she gasped, "What the fuck did you just say?"

He frowned for a moment, as if re-considering, but then his expression softened, and he gently reached out to touch her face. "I said... I love you. I'd never hurt a hair on your head, chip or no."

Faith gulped, her body beginning to tremble. She covered the hand on her cheek with her own, blown away by the sudden rush of feeling that went through her. She was drowning in the stormy blue of his eyes. Funny... even though she knew there was no soul in there, she could swear that she still saw that he was telling the truth.

"You..." she whispered, "Holy shit."

Spike slowly bent toward her. "Holy shit... what?"

"I... oh, Christ." She shook her head furiously. "I can't... I'm a... and... you're... There's no way you can..."

He moved still closer, until their faces were only inches apart. "You love me too," he informed her softly, "I told you. I can smell it on your skin." He punctuated his declaration by brushing his hand gently down her bare arm, relishing the goosebumps that rose beneath his touch.

"N,." she objected, but didn't attempt to move away.

"Yes," he breathed, and kissed her softly. "You love me, Slayer. As wrong and stupid as it is."

He kissed her again, longer and deeper this time, and Faith felt it straight down to her toes - her whole body was falling, like when a runaway elevator comes to a lurching stop. His hands tangled on her hair his tongue sought hers, and for the second time in her screwed up life, she knew what it meant to be totally lost.

Only... it was the first time being lost ever felt so *good*.

When he finally pulled away, still holding her fast, she didn't open her eyes. "Okay... maybe I do... a little," she mumbled.

"Look at me," he commanded softly, tucking a wild lock of thick, shining hair behind her ear, "Look me in the eye, and say it."

Faith forced herself to meet his gentle, yet hungry, gaze.

//Oh, God. how fucked up is this scene?//

"I..." she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I..." Faith shook her head, unable to believe what was happening. "Spike, I... fuck. I... love... you."

He blessed her with the hugest, warmest smile she'd ever seen on his handsome face.

"I love you, too, Pet. See? Not so hard, once you get used to it," he murmured, "You want to stay with the poufter and the Scoobs? I'll stay with you. I might not have a soul, but I damn well know a good deal when I've got one."

Her big, chocolate orbs filled with tears, and Spike could swear his dead heart vaulted when she smiled back at him.

"I guess you must be smarter than you look, then," she murmured, and pulled him back for another kiss.

As if their confession had cast some kind of spell on him, Spike found himself overwhelmed with a tenderness he couldn't remember feeling before... not even with Dru, he didn't think. For the first time, the consuming lust he had always carried for this woman seemed... softer around the edges somehow, as if saying the words aloud and hearing her echo them in return made the whole ridiculous, ironic state of their relationship real in a way it hadn't been, when the feelings were only in his heart.

As he kissed her, teasing her tongue with his, nibbling first her upper, then lower lip gently, he let the reality of what was happening careen around in his head.

He loved her. He, William the Bloody, Slayeraxe, once the biggest Bad on the face of the planet, had fallen in love with the one (of two) girl(s) in all the world that he in no way should have. Faith had Slayed him just as surely as if she'd stuck a pointy stick in him... but rather than defeating him by piercing his heart, she had stolen it, instead.

The result, either way, was the same. It was over. His giant 'What the Hell Do I Do Now' crisis was settled. He would go wherever she went, even if that meant wearing a white hat for all of eternity.

Okay, so maybe not quite *that* far... but still. It was the first time that thinking about abiding on this side of the Good/Evil rampart didn't make him want to wretch. Or kill something. Or possibly both.

Spike laid her down gently on the bed, washed away by the heady sensations of her... all the things about Slayers that had always consumed him to a killing obsession now suddenly doing something completely different to him. The hunger for her... for the warmth of her soft, soft skin... the hot magick of her blood... he no longer wanted to steal them from her. Now he wanted her to *want* to give them to him.

He slipped his hands under her tank top and slid the thin cotton away, exposing the perfectly bronzed curves beneath. The black demi-bra she swore barely covered her ample breasts, and gave more of an invitation to touch, in his mind, than a barrier against doing so. Kneeling above her, Spike traced its lacy edges with a fingertip, reveling in the way that simple caress made her gasp and close her eyes, her own hands fumbling blindly to touch whatever part of him she could reach.

He wanted to be *close* to her. Be *part* of her... let her life force rush over his skin like lava. He wanted to feel her heartbeat pounding strong and sure against his still and empty chest. Taste bliss, not terror, in her blood. Wanted to feel her Slayer muscles, inside and out, tremble in pleasure, not fear. And for her eyes to look at him with the "yes" of a lover... not the "no" of a victim.

Reaching down, he flicked a single fingertip under the front clasp of her bra, setting her full, heaving breasts free. Cupping and squeezing one in each hand, he bent down to her, brushing a wet kiss to each nipple.

"Spike..." she sighed, and he was unable to suppress a shuddering moan as her hot little hands ((killing hands)) smoothed over his chest and shoulders with a tenderness that almost set him to weeping like a little girl.

He pressed his weight on to her, the gentle stirring of cool skin against hot like a thunderstorm in his blood. He nursed at her breasts for a good chunk of forever... suckling gently, worrying them with his teeth, until she was cooing and writhing beneath him, thrusting her denim-clad crotch into his own.

Making love to Faith was like being set on fire... the way her body heat poured out to envelop him, making his nerves tingle as if they were alive. Watching the amazing way her pretty face contorted in ecstasy... feeling her fingers tangling in his hair, her long legs wrapping around him as though if she gripped him hard enough she could fuck him right through their clothes... It was like being born again and dying again all at once, and his whole being was driven to nothing less than being completely one with her.

Back when he was human, William had been a big, fat sucker for love and romance, giving his foolish heart away to any cheesy bint who smiled at him twice. But as a vampire, he'd eschewed the whole vapid poetry and lurve songs crap, tossing it out right along with his soul and his heartbeat. He was dead, and all-powerful -- he didn't need some simpy bird to make him complete. His undead devotion was reserved for his blood kin -- his Sire and his princess, Dru. He'd never bothered with more than a flirt and a fuck with any other creature in a hundred and some odd years, and he'd certainly never fallen in messy, squishy-hearted mortal love.

Until now... now, he was filled with it. With her. With thoughts of her... and *for* her. He cared about how she fared... how she felt. He liked to make her laugh... see her eyes light up when he walked into a room. He loved the way she kicked his ass and then teased him mercilessly for it afterwards, but then just as easily became unrelentingly submissive and feminine later on in bed.

And truth be told, he found that there was something to be said about semi-lucidity in a woman, as well.

Faith was fierce... strong and independent, and yet vulnerable. She was boiling over with strength, power and passion. An unrepentant bon vivant bitch with a filthy mouth and a filthier mind. Spike didn't think he could have built a better partner if he had drawn the blueprints and pulled a 'Weird Science'.

He'd been nuts about Drusilla, no doubt of that. She would always hold a large, fleshy fistful of his heart, and he would invariably fondly remember their velvety dark decades together. But those days were long gone, now. He was a wholly disparate vampire. Because of that, he figured, it was only fitting that he take another mate who better matched what he'd become.

And that was Faith.

//Look at this. She's got me thinkin' in soddin' iambic pentameter again. Looking for metaphors for hot and wet and alive...//

She didn't want his mushy sentiments. She didn't *need* his protection. And as fucked up as it was, that only made him want to give them to her all the more.

He undressed her leisurely, meticulously, taking time to see all that beautiful, vital flesh as he unwrapped it. He didn't think that even once in the year they're been fairly constantly scrogging, that he had gone slowly with her... really paused to drink in her details. He undid her jeans and pulled the denim away, like paring the rind from a delectable fruit. He kissed her flat stomach, the fleshy mound hidden by her panties... laved long and languidly in the hollow of her hipbones, and the hot satin of her inner thighs.

Christ. She was like an oasis, and he was suddenly a man centuries lost in the desert, willing to kill or die to drink his fill of her.

When her pants were disposed of, Spike stopped again, kneeling between her legs and just... gazed down at her, all bared to his eyes but that tiny scrap of silk hiding her deepest secrets.

His body pulsated almost as if he had a heartbeat, and his cock strained against the confines of his jeans, begging to delve into that mystery. He popped the buttons of his fly, setting himself free, and hissed at the sensation of cool air on his balls as he tugged them down. Finally nude, he braced himself above her on hands and knees, brushing the head of his erection over the soaking silk between her thighs, and watched the lust burgeoning in her gaze. Faith arched at the waist, trying to increase the friction between them. Her little hands reached up to claim either side of his face, and pulled him down for another probing kiss.

Good, holy fuck... Spike felt like he could so easily lose control like this, without having to go any further, just from her hands gently molesting him, and her mouth softly devouring him. Like a little virgin schoolboy, he was ready to go off at a simple touch.

"Faith..." he moaned into her lips, his eyes slipping shut as he was overcome by the burning velvet bliss that poured through his veins on borrowed blood.

She reached between them and tugged her thong down, and he ogled as she slid the scrap of cloth over her long, lithe legs and kicked it way, then returned his gaze to her passion-flushed face.

Hadn't he been thinking just a few weeks ago how everything in his reality was about to change? But he had never imagined the difference would manifest itself in a moment like this, when he was perched at the edge of a tender oblivion like nothing he'd ever seen even in his wildest dreams. Faith's eyes were filled with a heart-shattering love... burning need... perfect trust. Not blind devotion or belief in fairy tales, or insane delusions of sunlit gardens and white picket fences, but real affection and kinship, built on the ashes of a heart that was supposed to know better. That wasn't supposed to believe.

Just like him.

Spike pressed against her apex again, and Faith opened wide, beckoning him to come inside. He closed his eyes once more and accepted the invitation, easing into her molten flesh, drawn deep by her pulsing walls until he was sheathed so tightly, he could swear he felt her heartbeat against the tip of him.

He froze there... stilled completely in body and mind, simply allowing this foreign sensation of completion wash over him. His Sire once said that meditation made you still like this -- "turned the practitioner into an empty vessel just waiting to be filled, bringing you to a place where you were wiped clean and primed to receive the peace of connection to the universe", or some such bullocks. At the time, Spike snorted at him and called him a bleedin' nancyboy granola-cruncher, and asked him when he was gonna shave his poofy head, don a sheet, and start dancing with a tambourine in airports handing out flowers and telling people "God is love".

But now... now all of a sudden he thought that he finally got the stupid Zen metaphors Angel was always spouting. He didn't think he'd ever felt so... quiet, before.

Faith sighed, long and sweet, her limbs coming up to encircle him as she began to rock, giving tiny, thrusting circles of her hips so that his cock stirred her juices. She flexed her inner muscles around his buried shaft, softly scratching her nails down the length of his back, and ended by just barely digging into the muscles of his ass.

He grunted at the unspoken command... to blend, to merge completely with her. Withdrawing until he was almost free of her again, he twisted his pelvis and gave a few quick, shallow thrusts that elicited a pleading whimper from her deliciously kiss-swollen lips.

"This is... so wrong," she breathed, tracing a fingertip between his cheeks and up his spine, and tangling in his hair once more. "I'm a Slayer. You're a vampire. It shouldn't happen... oh god... like this..."

Spike slipped back into her heat once more, reckoning briefly that it was a tad late for her to be contemplating that. "Maybe. Can't say I much care," he rumbled, and slowly withdrew again. "Do you?"

He drove gently forward once more, a little harder... a little deeper.

"Noooooo..." she moaned in reply.

"Didn't think so," he chuckled, and they began to undulate together, an easier, more languid pace than they had ever taken before. The vampire couldn't remember sex like this -- so langorously, so driven not only by the urge to go deep... to get off... but to feel every inch of her as fully as he could. Instead of a volcano or an explosion, the pleasure was more like a gentle tide wave lapping over his body, growing ever higher with each thrust, until he was senseless with it. Lulled instead of rocketed into rapture.

Faith felt completely boneless... boundary-less... defenseless... and yet whole and safe and solid in his arms. She soon forgot about choices between right and wrong. Ceased caring about irony or rules or good and evil. All she was now was part of him, her warm lost in his cool, her soft and welcoming utterly devoured by his hard and probing.

Spike wrapped himself around her like a blanket of ecstasy, burying his face in her hair and whispering to her as their rhythm built. He breathed her name... murmured of his love and her beauty... how her body felt like the only Heaven he ever bothered to get to.

She had been so afraid of loving the vampire who was now buried so thoroughly in her body. The idea had been niggling at the edges of her mind, setting up shop in her heart, and lighting a foreign flame in her soul ever since... well, since not long after they met, actually. She'd known it was there, but forced herself to ignore it. It couldn't possibly be what she was thinking. If she denied it, it wouldn't be real. She wouldn't have to face it, look at it, mull it over, risk it, let it terrify her, just as long as they kept playing the "Lusty Reluctant Allies Who Fuck Because They Have Nothing Better to Do" Game.

But over the past few months... and most especially since she first felt his teeth in her throat -- offered her very life up to him as a gift of comfort, and had him treat it with respect and consideration and gratitude she'd never thought he had in him -- the feeling had been spreading. Expanding like some mutant virus through her entire being until she could practically feel him worming his way into her cells. Lorne's assertion that they were bound together by Fate -- that somehow, as utterly twisted and alien as the theory was, that they were meant to be together -- had only made that old niggling louder. So loud, in fact, that she'd had to constantly push it away so it didn't completely consume her life.

And despite the fact that her heart nearly exploded every time he said her name, or that her body started to shiver and sweat just when he took her hand, she never let the feeling grow so big that she couldn't keep it under control. She never let him get so close that, if it came down to it, she wouldn't be able to bring herself to dust him.

Because, no matter how she might feel about him, he was still a vampire, and she was still a Slayer, and that was the way things went in this world. Especially for her. Nobody she'd loved ever stuck around for long... or if they tried to, they ended up scarred for life at the least, and dead at the worst. So this stupid leashed demon couldn't be expected to be the exception to the rule, and arms' length away was where she always kept him.

Until tonight. Until just now, when she thought for sure he would turn and walk away from her, back to his beloved shadows, and once again become not her lover, but a monster she was sworn to kill.

Then that shocking 180... he more or less *chose* to stay exactly where he insisted he hated being... for *her*.

He said he loved her. Faith looked into his eyes as they made love, felt the full length and breadth of their polar-opposite bodies sweetly grinding, melting and churning together...

And she believed him.

It was bad. It was wrong. She would end up crushed, smashed, broken and more alone than she'd ever been before in the end, she was sure. But right now, she didn't care. *Couldn't* care. It didn't matter. No one had ever made her feel this way before. No one had ever touched her like the way she felt about it all mattered.

The irony of the fact that it was a self-proclaimed evil, soulless, murdering fiend who was the first to do so was just par for the course in her fucked up life.

But now he was on her, in her, all around her, part of her like nothing and no one had ever been before in her long, lonely life. He felt like the home she'd never had and the somewhere she'd never really belonged, and she would almost rather die than ever be put in a position where she might have to...

She couldn't even form the thought anymore.

Soon she couldn't form any thought at all as he hitched her knees up over his shoulders, angling himself to thrust deeper and faster. He sighed and moaned and gasped and grunted, arching away from her, driving her toward a peak that she knew would break her down into her component parts and scatter them to the winds that roared at the top.

But she wanted him to dissemble her. Shatter her. Rip her apart, slow, like this. If only she could perish right now, when everything made sense, and everything felt so perfectly right...

"Christ, Faith!" he bellowed, his thrusts growing frantic, his superfluous breath rushing out in panting rasps.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pretzeling herself like some tantric yogi so she could reach his lips, and that angle seated him just so inside of her, snapping her eyes wide open at the sensation of his throbbing hardness caressing that ultra-sensitive spot in the roof of her channel, his pelvis rubbing against her clit, his tongue in her mouth, his hands clasping desperately at her back...

Time stopped... contracted to a pinpoint of nothing but their locked gazes and the places where their bodies were joined. The lovers gaped at one another in awed shock as they dangled together over the precipice of completion for a moment... two...

Or maybe it was forever -- neither of them could be sure.

"I love you," she gasped... with no hesitation at all, and pulled back, giving one hard, ramming surge, impaling herself on him.

Time exploded to forward motion once again... their reality became a screaming fireball as they plummeted into an obliterating orgasm, and finally crashed to earth. Still fully connected, limbs entwined, they collapsed to the bed, plunging into the bliss of sated unconsciousness, where no thought or feeling at all remained but the comfort and safety of home.

Two broken creatures who, together, made one almost healthy whole.


	24. Falling Into the Dance

Angel forced himself to stand ramrod straight, and erase any hint of a telltale expression from his face as he, Spike, Faith and Darla approached the doors of the Great Hall.

This was it - the first, and maybe the last, battle that would decide on which side of the good/evil barrier he would fight in the final days. If he fought on any at all... he remained acutely aware that it was possible that Frost would defeat him.

Then, all would be lost. Not just himself, but Buffy. And without the two of them, he feared that the rest of their family would eventually fall - or surrender - as well. A great deal more was at stake in this duel than only his personal relationship with Buffy.

Not that that wasn't more than enough...

Buffy... he took a deep, cleansing breath to focus his consciousness, closed his eyes, and reached out through the thin remnants of the link to touch his lover's soul, hidden deep in the folds of his Childe's coat. He poured all of his concentration into listening deep inside that place where their essences still blended, however weakly, and silently rejoiced to hear her soul's continued singing... she was ready.

'I'll get you back,' he vowed, 'Or die trying.'

He opened his eyes once more to find Darla's fixed on him. He could see real concern and worry in her expression, despite her best attempts to appear detached.

"I don't want to see you die," she murmured, uncaring about the irony of the statement or the sentiment, or, for that matter, what he or any of the others around them thought of her. This was her precious Childe... her beloved mate... and however she felt about his lover, his mission, or her own soul did nothing to change those feelings. Whatever she had to do to escape the bonds Frost had put upon her, she didn't want to see her Angel suffer for it. He was about to lay his life on the line for everything he believed in - however ludicrous she thought those beliefs to be. His stoic bravery in the face of the coming battle was breathtaking... metaphorically... and almost enough to make her hesitate in her own plans.

Almost... but not quite.

Angel's lingering anger and resentment toward his Sire evaporated as he looked into her familiar features. Yes, she had played with him... set the events in motion, however accidentally, which had led them here. But he found that, ultimately, he couldn't blame her. When he had regained his soul, how many times had he slipped and fallen back on old patterns before meeting Buffy had set him finally and firmly on the path to redemption? He could no more ask Darla to succeed on her first try, could he? And really... he believed that she loved him, in her selfish, narrow-minded way. He knew how strong the call of the heart could be... and understood all too well how impossible it was to resist that call. What wouldn't he be willing to do to keep Buffy by his side?

He reached out to take his Sire's hand, and gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm not going to die. I'm going to win. And we're all going to walk out of here in once piece. I promise."

Though tears welled in her pretty blue eyes, she returned his smile. "Strangely enough, I believe you." He began to turn his focus away from her once more, but she held fast to his hand. "Angel?"

He glanced at her. "Yes?"

Darla took a deep breath... possibly her first conscious one in centuries. She felt the foreign oxygen fill her lungs and sluggish bloodstream, and was suddenly buoyant almost to the point of lightheadedness. She could feel his determination... his willingness to sacrifice everything for the Slayer like a tangible energy burning in his blood.

"I wish I could make this up to you," she said, and in that moment, she meant it. A brief pang of regret washed through her... that if she succeeded, and he survived, he would never be this strong, noble creature again - or if he was, she would no longer care.

Angel felt a wave of profound relief inside his heart... and seeing in her soulful eyes that she was sincere, a rush of new affection and hope for her came with it. She still had a long way to go... but at least, it seemed as though she was taking the first steps to get there.

"Thank you," he replied softly, and gave her hand a final squeeze before letting go and turning to face the doors once again. He could hear the crowd humming inside... could smell their bloodlust, the hunger for the fight, that reminded him that no matter how civilized the Sanguinati liked to appear, they were still demons.

Spike shot him a smirk over his shoulder, patting the side of his coat. Then, Faith rushed over, and in an uncharacteristic display of affection, threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely. When she pulled away, tears had flooded her big, brown eyes.

"Kick his ass, big guy," she said gruffly, and quickly turned away.

He took all of their good wishes and the soft pulsing of Buffy's soul deep inside himself, like a well of power - he would need it all to face what lay before him.

He *would* succeed. He had to. Nothing and no one would get in his way. And if they tried?

Well... he figured he had plenty of murderous rage to go around.

~~~~~

Inside the Great Hall, Frost smiled broadly as the Pages stepped from the sidelines to announce the setting of the sun, and call the Special Session of the Sanguinati Court.

He could feel Buffy shifting restlessly from one foot to the other behind him, her tension humming like electricity from her skin.

"Stop fidgeting," he chastised her under his breath. It wouldn't do to have his Piece de Resistance showing any weakness or doubt when she was about to stand as his second in what would undoubtedly be the most important battle of his life.

Buffy forced herself to stand still while her brain, her blood... her whole *body* was consumed by a riot of indecision, anger, and confusion. Echoes of her old self asserted themselves, whispering in her mind, arguing with her newer, more selfish leanings.

//You *can't* kill Angel. You just can't.//   
//He tossed you out like some slut he picked up in a *bar*. Death is too good for him.//

With those voices, in chorus with the continued rumbling of her Slayer instincts, her brain was like a storm raging in her skull... and her heart. She bit her lip hard, and fought to focus on that sting, instead.

After all, she'd had to make *way* harder decisions than this, and fought under *far* worse circumstances than these.

"Hear all ye members of the Sanguinati! Our enemy, the sun, has left the sky, and our darkness once again reigns!" the Page called out, "A challenge has been raised against the council and our Prelate by the Order of Aurelius - a challenge to be decided in the Old Way, by hand-to-hand combat to the Final Death!"

The crowd roared so loudly that the walls shook. The enormous entry doors were flung back, and for the second time in less than 24 hours, the four representatives of the Order of Aurelius stepped on to the blood red runner carpet that cut the Hall.

Buffy watched Angel come toward her... feeling his approach in every fiber of her being. That itch that had begun even before he arrived kicked up to an almost unbearable level, like her skin was burning. The proud way he held himself... his head high, his face a mask of fierce determination... the way his long, hard body flexed with the simple act of walking...

//God, he's... beautiful...//

Biting her lip even harder... this time, until she drew blood, she slammed her mind shut. She had to stop drooling over him like he was her lover, and start focusing on at least *looking* like she hated him and wanted nothing more than to kick his ass, if any of them were going to survive.

//And I *definitely* have to *not* be totally stunned by the fact that he's wearing *leather* pants and a velvet shirt... and I was *so* not lying when I said he looks better in them than Frost...//

Something about the costume brought out his Angelus-ness... made him just that much more imposing... impressive... frightening...

Sexy.

Buffy struggled to catch her breath.

//No, don't think about that! He's just a vampire, like a million other vamps. He's just a vamp. He's just a vamp. He's just a vamp.//

This was *not* going to be fun. In fact, it was undoubtedly going to *suck*.

If she had put together all the bits and pieces of the plan she'd gleaned here and there from gossip around the compound correctly, then there was going to be a three-way race that would determine who won here, and how. One, Frost's magick would prevail, and *no* one in this room would be left with a soul; two, she and Angel would kill each other; or three...

Well, she had no idea about the third "or". She just knew that he and the others would never come here without a plan that would broaden their options and increases their chances, if only a little.

She was counting on it. Because the more she looked at him (and tried desperately *not* to look at him), the less certain she was that she could even *pretend* to want to kill him. With or without a soul, her heart still remembered... and felt the agony of... the last time she'd been forced to sacrifice him to save the world.

He approached the foot of the dais where she stood at the right hand of the Prelate's throne, and glared up at Frost with a cold hatred she didn't think she'd even seen in the demon's eyes. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears as an eerie, tense hush fell over the crowd.

Angel glanced at Buffy for a split second before he turned back to Frost again, but even that short look made her grip the back of the chair twice as hard, because her knees turned completely to water at the darkness in his gaze. Echoes of voices past brushed suddenly through her mind as her body once again began to shake and burn with the nearness of him.

** It doesn't require a soul to love, little Buffy...**   
** You're a soddin' moron if you think I can't feel love just because I don't have a soul...**   
** Darla once told me, a very long time ago, 'All that we were informs all that we become. The same love will infect our hearts...' **

Her heart clenched tight, and her breath caught in her throat.

//Oh, God.//

She was still in love with Angel.

"Deacon Frost. You've insulted the honor of my bloodline. Done deliberate harm to my Sire and my mate. Your actions have been cowardly and in direct violation of the Law. I hereby challenge you to address my charges in the Old Way."

His deep voice reverberated through the silence, permeating the cavernous chamber as if it was a blade.

A blade that sliced right through her, as well.

Frost glanced up at him from a blasé examination of his nails. "I accept your challenge, Angelus of Aurelius. A fight to the Final Death, for possession of this territory, and for your alleged mate," he declared as if announcing that dinner was served.

On his cue, but never taking his eyes from the Prelate's, Angel reached out his hand, and Darla stepped forward to place the enormous broadsword she carried into it.

Deacon Frost didn't move or look up again.

"You accepted my challenge, *Prelate*," Angel hissed. "Now get up and face me! Or have you tasted enough of my sword for one eternity?"

Buffy's brow shot up. What was that about? When had they ever met before?

The elder vampire smiled coldly. "Hardly, dear boy. But I find that in my advanced age, I grow bored of violence. My second, however, has not."

Angel's gaze ticked to Buffy once more as Frost rose to stand before her.

"Buffy Summers," he called out, "You are the greatest warrior in the history of either of our races. And as it is your honor as well as my own that is called into question by Aurelius' challenge, it is therefore your right to address it in my place, as my second. Do you agree to do so?"

Buffy stared at him, wide-eyed. Her gaze flew to Angel in time to catch his expression of shock and horror just before he wiped it from his face.

//Here we go...//

She looked back at Frost again. The vampire frowned dangerously in warning, and she had no doubt what would happen to her if she refused.

//Maybe I can get the sword and take Frost out before anybody realizes what's happening.//

The crowd began to chant.

"Death! Death! Death! Death!"

"Buffy?" Frost hissed under his non-breath, then raised his voice once for the benefit of the bloodthirsty crowd. "Do you accept the challenge to face Angelus of Aurelius in my name?"

//Oh, God!//

She looked at Angel once again, and caught the barely perceptible nod of his head.

"Um... yeah. Okay," she mumbled.

"Say. It. *Louder*," the Prelate growled through clenched teeth. "Or so help me, I will gut you *myself*!" He held out his hand, and Christophe slapped a sword that matched Angel's into it - the same sword that Frost had shown her last night.

//Just play the game. Play the game. You have to play the game.//

"I... accept the challenge," she forced herself to shout.

The crowd exploded into cheers. Frost's murderous scowl quickly morphed back to his trademark smirk, and he placed the sword into her hand. She could swear the metal was humming as she turned and moved toward the dais steps.

"Buffy Summers shall stand as my second, Angelus. You will face *her* in combat!" he announced, and then Buffy barely heard him mutter, "That's my girl."

"I'm not *your* girl," she grumbled, and marched down the steps, forcing herself to hold her head high until she and Angel were face to face.

//You hate him. You hate him. It doesn't matter.//   
//I love him. I love him. I love him. I can't do this!//   
//You have to!//   
//KILL THE DEMON!//

She forced herself to leer at him, trying to remember the hurt and anger she had felt for him last night, and drawing on that for inspiration.

//Play the game, or you're both dead.//

"So, lover... not that it matters, but....any last words before I gut you like a fish?" she quipped.

The painful memory of their shared nightmare flashed briefly in Angel's eyes, but a heartbeat later, he gave her a smile.

"Actually, yes," he said softly, for her ears alone, "When you're whole again, you're going to feel guilty. You're going to want to punish yourself for what you've done."

A flash of indignant rage burned through her. Sanctimonious bastard! "Oh yeah? You think so, huh?"

His face remained calm... patient... loving. No matter how hard Buffy tried to steel her heart against him, the pathetic organ still lurched at the familiar expression.

"I know so, because I know you. But don't, okay? No matter what happens. No matter what you've done... no matter what you do or say... soulless or not, I love you. Remember that."

For a moment, she couldn't move or respond, as though there was some gentle magick in his words that froze her in place. But it only lasted a moment before her anger flared once again.

This schizo flip-flopping of emotions was starting to get on her nerves. And, naturally, it was all about Angel, just like it always was.

"Well, I guess that's your tough luck, isn't it?" she snarled, her irritation getting the best of her. Why couldn't she just get a *hold* of herself? She knew what she had to do... "Look, not that this isn't a really sweet Hallmark moment, but... my friends came to see a *fight*."

//Please stop talking. Please stop looking at me like that and fight. Please!//

Angel finally dropped into fighting stance. "En guard," he said with a predatory smile.

~~~~~

As the lovers squared off, Spike ushered Faith and Darla to the far edge of the floor, where they could keep an eye on the stage and the bleachers while still watching the fight.

And frankly, he wanted to keep a sharp eye on the old bat, as well. He didn't trust how quiet, sweet, and docile the bitch had been through this whole underground adventure, and he was pretty damn sure, even though he had no way to prove it, that she had to have something up her pretty little designer sleeve.

More important than that, though, was his duty as rock guard... a duty that he was liking less and less every second that ticked by. As Angel and Buffy circled one another, neither one making any move to start the battle, he could feel the damn thing stuffed in his coat begin to hum against the skin of his lower back, and he could swear it was getting warmer...

Christ, what had he gotten himself into?

~~~~~

Buffy crouched low, clutching the sword that was almost as big as she, and smirked again at her lover.

"Come on, Angel. What is this, a footsie tournament? Make a move."

Some small part of her almost longed for the link, so she could communicate with him. The game would be a Hell of a lot easier to play if she could explain the rules to him...

But, to her surprise, he smirked back. "I don't see a whole lot of thrusts and parries coming from your side of the ring, either."

Maybe he wasn't so out of touch with her, after all...

She frowned. "Oh, don't worry. When I'm ready, I'm going to *totally* kick your ass. You know it, and I know it."

His eyes narrowed, and again she was struck with how Angelus-y he was being.

"Interesting. Do you really think you *can*?" he growled.

Angel forced himself to concentrate. This situation had moved so far beyond "bad" that "horrible" wasn't even within sight anymore. He'd been fully prepared to execute his plan - slaughte Frost quickly, grab Buffy, and get the Hell out of this snake pit before anyone realized what was happening and had a chance to stop them.

He should have known better. He should have planned for any contingency, like he would in any other battle situation. But he was so distracted... so driven just to save Buffy, to get rid of this monster wearing her face, that he hadn't been as careful as he might. So, naturally, as had been his luck, of late, his plan had gone completely awry. He should have known Frost would pull this exact stunt. Pitting him against Buffy herself... knowing full well that he would never hurt his lover, even if that ultimately meant meeting his own final end... and possibly the world's as well.

This was a part he had to play. He had to force his feelings aside, and let the demon to the fore. Keep up appearances until the others could cast the spell that would restore Buffy's soul, then they could fight together. As it stood now, she looked fully prepared to take him out, but he could feel some hesitation in her, as though she was waiting for another option to present itself, too.

He had vowed that he would get her back no matter what the cost...

Now he would be forced to prove it.

With a snarl, Buffy swung - a sloppy move that required barely any movement at all at his part to avoid.

"Not your best work, Buffy," he growled.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Just warming up," she snapped, and without warning, feinted left, but swung right, forcing Angel to leap backward to protect his weak side.

This obviously wasn't going to be easy. They had trained together... battled together... on and off for five years. She knew his every move, every small strategy that he usually used to outwit and defeat opponents, just as well as he did. It would be difficult to trick her... or even mildly surprise her.

And if she really wanted to kill him...

Angel immediately thrust in return, kicking out to sweep her legs from beneath her. But she jumped and parried, exactly as he had known she would.

Their swords met with a clang that echoed even above the cacophony of the roaring throng of vampires.

"You don't have to do this," he told her as they resumed their slow circling once more. "You can end this right now. Just say the word, and I'll take you out of here. They can't stop you."

Though outwardly, she flashed a mocking sneer, a very different battle broke out inside of Buffy. She was suddenly filled with memories of Maggie Walsh talking about Freud back in Psych 101.

**Freud postulated that the human psyche, and thus, human behavior, is controlled in varied degrees by three factors: id, ego, and superego. Or, to put it in simpler symbolic terms: you, the little devil on one shoulder, and the little angel on the other.**

Buffy knew she wasn't supposed to have a conscience - that her little angel was supposed to have been gutted when her soul got sucked out. But the Slayer instinct so recently awakened in her took its place somewhat, and the roar of arguing voices echoed in her head.

//He's right! You can run!//   
//You'll never make it out of here alive.//   
//Just kill him already! Kill *all* of the beasts!//   
//I don't want to go back!//   
//He is your MATE!//

Above all of the storm in her mind, she could sense the growing bloodlust in the crowd. No... these demons would never let them leave this chamber alive, no matter what the Law said. She had to fight, and just hope...

Hope. Another sensation she couldn't reconcile with her soulless state. Why would she *want* to hope?

"Don't be stupid!" she hissed. "Do you *really* think he's going to let you walk out of here?"

//God, this soulless thing *sucks*!//

She wasn't supposed to be feeling what she was feeling. The indecision, the confusion. It should all be so perfectly simple... wasn't that what Angel said being soulless meant? Simplicity?

//Frost wants him dead. He wants me to kill him.//

Did the Prelate really think that she would do it? That she *could*?

//Why not? You didn't exactly give him a reason to think otherwise.//

"Come on, Buffy," Angel taunted loudly, a cruel edge to his voice that she knew was probably covering up a world of hurt and confusion of his own, "Your public awaits."

The crowd's joyous cheering had once again sputtered to an angry grumbling as the two warriors failed to put on any kind of show for them. She glanced up at Frost, and found his face marked with the same dangerous glare he had worn when she hesitated earlier.

Angel moved quickly, thrusting toward her, and grabbing her in a headlock before she could even draw a breath.

"I know you're confused. But whatever you're feeling, you have to *fight*!" he hissed in her ear.

She wrenched out of his embrace and spun, taking him off guard with a flying kick to his midsection. Angel stumbled slightly, but managed to recover.

When he stood upright once more, he gave her an ironic half-smile.

Then the fight really began.

~~~~~

Though he would never admit it aloud, Frost was impressed. Vampire and Slayer were a perfectly choreographed ballet of delicious violence, moving in flawless tandem, matching one another thrust for thrust, swing for swing, and kick for kick. Each obviously foresaw every move the other made, and drove it back easily.

Perhaps Buffy hadn't been the best choice after all, for as beautiful as this dance might be, it was becoming increasingly apparent that it wasn't going to get him what he wanted.

Well... no matter. He wasn't a stupid vampire. An effective leader always had a number of contingency plans... he muttered a short incantation and smiled to see both Buffy and his sword briefly glow a brilliant green.

Then, without being obvious, he ticked his gaze up to the second balcony, where Aphashta and his sorcerers waited in the shadows for his signal to unleash the soul magick.

After all, a dead Angelus would be just as satisfying as a dead Angel. In fact... more so.


	25. Ironic Reruns

A few hours before sunset, Buffy and Angel's combined families gathered in the lobby of the Hyperion, preparing to perform yet another ritual designed to save the lives of the vampire and his Slayer.

//Our lives are like a summer full of really *bad* reruns.//

Cordelia watched everyone scurrying around, getting the materials ready that they would need for the restoration, breaking off into smaller groups to wait in tense silence as Old Emma consecrated the room and recast the protective wards around the hotel.

//And then, of course, there's the joy of the Night of the Living Dead army outside, just waiting for one little break in the hotel coating to get a shot at the creamy human center.//

They'd drawn the heavy curtains over every window as the day passed. No one wanted to be able to look out and see the hoards of demon minions milling around outside. No one needed yet *another* reminder that everything -- absolutely the *whole* enchilada -- revolved around what would happen in the next few hours. They knew that Angel had gotten into the compound safely with Buffy's soul. They knew that her body was alive, and at sunset, there would be some diversion so they could cast the jerry-rigged gypsy spell.

And that was about all they knew. They had no idea if Angel had been found out in the sixteen hours since they talked to him last, or if the second vessel would accept Buffy's soul, or if their big monster mojo would even work at all.

Who knew? They could all end up dead and/or soulless by the time this was through anyway.

Uncertainty did *not* leave Cordelia Chase in a good mood. Of course... that sort of made her life working with Angel and living with Doyle a little uncomfortable as a rule, but *still*... that unpredictability had a certain... pattern to it. This random acts of true Fright Night terror were something she just couldn't handle.

She stood by the check-in desk, tying together bunches of sage that Willow and Tara had spread out to dry over its surface.

//I'm so handy to this operation. Tying little pieces of string around a bunch of weeds. Yay.//

Everybody else in the room wore expressions of concentration -- even Anya, who generally looked bored no matter what was going on. Cordy wondered if she was the only one riddled with doubt and absolutely terrified of what was about to happen.

She felt Doyle's approach beside her just as she tied the last smudge thingy together. More than anything right now, she wanted to run upstairs and go hide in one of the empty rooms, lock the door, and dive under the covers, safe in her half-demon's arms.

She looked up into the icy blue eyes that had become the center of her universe, and thought -- if somebody ever took Doyle, what would she be willing to risk to get him back?

Everything, she realized. Herself, her friends, her family--Hell, the entire *universe*. Even the Prada shoes he had scraped and saved to buy her for her 19th birthday would be totally up for grabs, if it meant keeping him safe.

He rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, and gave her a loving smile. She felt the simple gesture down to her toes.

*That* was why they had to do this -- even if they all died in the process. Love. The love they had for one another, for Buffy and Angel, and their certainty that the two of them and what they shared would someday probably save the world.

Love was definitely worth sacrificing everything for.

"Them are some lovely smudging wands you've made there, Miss Chase," he said softly, brushing a tiny kiss to her ear.

She did her best to smile at him in return. "Thanks." She gazed into his eyes for a few long moments, trying to find the source of all the strength she could see shining in them. "This is going to work, you know," she informed both her lover and herself.

"Of course it is," he agreed. "I mean... how could it not? Wouldya look at this sage?" He gestured grandly over her handiwork.

Cordy couldn't help but pull him into her arms for a giant hug.

Old Emma stood and surveyed the room. "If everyone is ready, please come gather around. It's time to begin."

Cordy and Doyle moved hand in hand to stand in the circle, and she glanced at the faces around her... all these people, who had been so important in her life over the years, in their different ways... Giles and Wesley, Willow, Tara and Oz, Anya...

Finally, her gaze fell on Xander beside her. He gave one of his trademark half-grins, but she could see worry that matched her own in his deep brown eyes.

"You know, I think I've seen this episode before," he drawled, "We don't have to do that whole sharing thing again, do we? Because, honestly, I don't think I have any secrets left about any of you that are fit for anything but Penthouse Forum."

Cordy smiled and took his hand. "Shut up and chant, Harris."

~~~~~

The Prelate's private reception chamber bore the distinct scent of hubris, in Darla's opinion. A bitter tang of cowardice and deception, marked with the sticky sweet odor of old grudges beginning to rot.

Her hackles rose as she passed through his wards, and a flash of demonic rage coursed through her at the sight of him. Part of her wanted to abandon her half-formed plan, and just destroy him on the spot.

But no... patience, in this case, was most decidedly a virtue.

Frost glanced up from the Council table and flashed her an entirely unwelcoming smile. "Ah, hello, Darla. How nice to see you. You're looking well," the little snake lied coyingly.

She didn't bother with the usual formalities... like bowing. She bowed to no one -- especially this base creature.

"I am well, thank you, Prelate," she replied evenly.

No need to tip her hand just yet.

The elder vampire gestured to the empty seat at his right -- a deliberate insult, as the chair of Aurelius sat equally unoccupied to his left.

"Please, make yourself comfortable. May I offer you a drink?" he asked as he quickly straightened the papers that he had been examining and set them aside.

Darla ignored his offer, and instead took her proper seat. The Prelate's smile thinned slightly.

"No thank you, I'm fine," she answered as she settled into the soft kid leather of the chair her Sire had occupied for hundreds of years.

Well, perhaps not this *very* chair--but symbolically speaking.

Frost re-collected himself and leaned back casually. "What can I do for you? I thought you would be resting for the big event this evening."

"Mmm. Well, as it turns out, I find that I'm not the least bit tired," she replied, examining her nails.

She took careful measure of him out of the corner of her eye as silence reigned once again, letting the nervous tension she could smell on his skin grow for a few moments.

//Yes, that's right, boy. You may be the elder of us, but we *both* know who is the more powerful.//

"I thought that we might... have a little chat before the challenge," she informed him with a friendly smile. "Catch up a bit."

The Prelate retained his smooth facade, but she could sense his burgeoning unease. "Oh? And about what do you wish to speak? A surrender, perhaps?"

Darla laughed brightly. "Oh! Oh, no. I think that you recall as well as I do what happened the last time you came face to face with my Childe. I don't believe surrender or capitulation of any sort are in the best interest of the Order of Aurelius." She sat up straight and leaned slightly toward him. "You, on the other hand, might want to consider conceding this foolishness before you lose a great deal more than your pride."

Frost's eyes narrowed, and she swore she saw his canines extend slightly. "And what is it that you think I have to lose. exactly?"

Darla's cold smile spread. "Why. your head, of course, Mr. Frost. I think you'll find that Angelus is not likely to fight only to a draw this time. You've stolen his precious mate - a crime the Law states is punishable by death. And that, I assure you, is a justice he is more than prepared to mete out."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I have to wonder . why would you help him reclaim the Slayer? Surely you would be more. invested, shall we say, in allowing her to stay here with me."

The blonde leaned back in her chair once more, forcing her smile to remain despite the little pang of anger that flashed through her. She had to remember - Deacon Frost was a master manipulator, among other things. His sole purpose in bringing up the Slayer was to throw her off her guard, and force her to reveal her hand, not because he particularly cared for her answer... or, she suspected, cared about the Slayer at all.

"I believe that is between myself and Angelus, Mr. Frost," she rejoined noncommittally.

He smirked. "Hm. Then. what did you have in mind? To save my life, of course. A bargain?"

She chuckled softly. "Oh no, Deacon. I want nothing from you, and I wouldn't accept your surrender even if you offered it. I fully intend to see you meet your final death at my Childe's hands."

Frost no longer bothered with niceties, finally allowing a dangerous scowl to overtake his boyish features.

"Now, Darla. Sour grapes don't suit you. Aren't you even the least bit grateful for all the trouble I went through to bring you back to the Undead?"

She felt her determination boosted by his increasing discomfort - the slight cooling of his skin. His hand clenching his tumbler of scotch just a trifle too intensely.

Realizing that she was slipping the dagger of uncertainty under the surface of his cocksure arrogance was nearly as satisfying as seeing him die would soon be. And after. getting her hands on the magick that would cure her of this rotting disease that her Childe called a soul.

"Of course I'm grateful," she lied, "There are still many things that I would like to experience and accomplish on this plane before I leave it for the last time. Not the least of which is violently divesting you of *my* rightful mantel."

His angry frown morphed to an expression of utter shock. "I beg your pardon? Are you saying that *you* are somehow rightfully Prelate? That's ridiculous!"

Darla smiled sweetly. "Not so. Did you believe my Master wouldn't tell me of what transpired in Vienna immediately preceding his unfortunate. "accident" on the Hellmouth? He challenged you for the seat and was victorious. The Order of Aurelius truly holds the leadership of the Sanguinati. Or have you forgotten?"

Frost's tumbler shattered in his hand. Darla glanced down at its bloody remains and arched an eyebrow at him.

"I have *not* forgotten," he hissed. "But Nest *did* have his 'unfortunate accident', thus rendering his claim null and void."

She nodded. "*His* claim, perhaps, but not the Order's. And certainly not *mine*. I was restored to my place as his second before I was destroyed. But I'm back, now, thanks to you, and I fully intend to be sitting exactly where you are after tonight's battle, even if I have to tear your pompous carcass from the chair *myself*. As far as I'm concerned, Angelus will be fighting for a great deal more than the return of his *mate*."

"Preposterous!" Frost barked. "Your line was banned from Court for offenses too numerous to mention!"

"Mm. We *were* banned, Precious," Darla purred, rising from her seat. She laid an elegant hand on his shoulder and slowly circled his chair as she moved toward the door. "But by virtue of your acceptance of my Childe's challenge as legitimate, *you* have, as you so eloquently stated, 'restored our line to its former glory'. You will be defeated in full accordance with the Law. There is not a vampire in this court that will dispute what that victory signifies." She bent down to whisper in his ear. "In your delusions of omnipotence, Deacon, you've convinced yourself that you are where you are by right, rather than by subterfuge and disregard for the very principles you are sworn to uphold. You believe that I am just another disposable pawn in your little quest for world domination and to avenge your wounded pride. But you will find, my dear, that while I might now be burdened with a soul, I am still fully Darla of Aurelius, Master of the greatest bloodline in the history of our race. And you will soon learn that fact first hand, the hard way. Again."

The vampiress stood and swept dramatically from the room, tossing over her shoulder as she went, "Have a nice afternoon, Mr. Frost. it will surely be your last."

The Prelate glared after her for a few moments, then, with a frustrated roar that rattled the chandeliers above him, he shattered the table with a single, rage-driven blow.

~~~~~

Angel entered Spike and Faith's room without knocking. His Childe sat shirtless at the end of the bed, sharpening a deadly looking dagger; his lover was nowhere to be seen.

The younger vampire, to his surprise, immediately rose to his feet as he entered.

"So? You finally come to your senses and decide to let me fight?" the blond asked, setting the dagger down on the desk.

Angel looked him squarely in the eye. "No. I'll be doing the fighting tonight." Spike frowned at the denial, but before he could voice his objection, his Sire added, "I have something more important that I need from you."

His scarred eyebrow shot up. "Oh yeah? And what's that?"

The elder of the two men reached out his hand, and Spike's eyes went even wider as he realized that Angelus was offering him the glowing crystal containing Buffy's soul. His shocked gaze rose to Angel's.

"What's this all about, then?"

Angel continued to hold his gaze. There was a somber graveness in his dark eyes that Spike was pretty damn sure he had never seen there before. Or at least. not directed toward him.

"You have to carry Buffy's soul into the Great Hall. It's possible they'll make me strip down to my pants before the challenge. You, they'll just search for hidden weapons."

The younger vampire backed away, holding up his hands defensively. "Oh no. You're not bloody well foisting that thing on me while there's soul magick flying about! Forget it. Get Faith to do it."

Angel shook his head, and followed Spike's retreat. "Faith's soul might block the transfer. You're the only one who can do it."

The blond stopped and glared at him. "Wait just a cotton-picking minute, there, mate! You mean to tell me you actually expect me to *voluntarily* stand *directly* in the path of the same soddin' soul mojo that's got the rest of you lot all scrambled in the head? Not soddin' likely! You can stick that bleedin' rock up your arse for all I care! I ain't touchin' it!"

The dark-haired vampire's expression softened. "Please, Spike. You offered to be my second in the challenge. I need this from you more. For her sake, if not for mine."

Spike scowled fiercely at the glowing rock in fear, but said nothing.

"I'll get down on my knees and beg, if that's what it takes," Angel murmured, "I know that you and I don't share the bond that we once did. but you're still my Childe, and I'm still your Sire. I'm asking just this one favor from you, and I swear on my soul I'll never ask another. I need to know that she'll be protected while I fight. And if anything happens to me."

The younger demon's eyes shot up to his elder's. "Nothin's gonna happen to you," he caught himself and added, "You sorry sod."

Angel's face collapsed into a disappointed frown.

Spike found that he was suddenly awash in memories as he fell into the deep mahogany of his Maker's eyes. Echoes of deeper feelings that he had long forgotten rattled in his heart, and to see the bastard begging. to see him crumbling like this, was just too much to take.

"Oh, for Christ sake. All right. I'll do it," he snapped. Then an idea came to him. "But not for free. It'll cost ya."

Angel frowned suspiciously. "What?"

"Dunno, yet. I'm sure I'll think of somethin'," Spike chuckled.

His Sire took a step toward him, a dangerous glint overwhelming the sadness that had been in his eyes. "What's the price, Spike? You want to stake me afterward? Fine. You want money? Name your price. Take everything I have. Whatever it is, I'll do it."

The younger vampire paused for a moment. The hotel--all the antiques and crap--would sure as Hell add up to a damn fine fortune. Him and Faith could retire to Mexico in style.

But, no. If he put his mind to it, he could definitely think of something more satisfying than money. Or at least... more than *just* money. "Don't want your dosh, Peaches. Or your sorry unlife, either. At least... not right now. I'll let you know when you've got somethin' I want."

Angel's substantial brow furrowed. "So you're saying I'll owe you a favor?"

His Childe gave him a shit-eating grin. "That's right. *You* owe *me*. My call as to when, what and where I collect. If you expect me to toss my arse in front of a damn freight train, I'm gonna make damn well sure the payment's something *good*. That'll require some thought."

Angel stared at the blond for a long time.

"Fine. If we survive, I'll owe you a favor," he finally choked out.

Spike grinned happily and accepted the stone. "You bloody well better believe we'll survive. I'll guard this soddin' rock with my unlife for that."

With a beleaguered sigh, Angel turned away. "You'd better. Now let's go. It's almost time for them to call Court."

Spike slipped on a shirt, threw on his coat and stashed the crystal in one of his shoplifting pockets deep in the lining. As they stepped out the door, Angel stopped once more and gave his Childe a hard look.

"If you let anything happen to her, I'm going to do things to your hide that'll make your whelping seem like a day at Disneyland, do you hear me?"

With a wink, he replied, "Sure thing, *Master*."

~~~~~

Buffy leaned heavily against the back of Frost's chair and tried desperately not to throw up all over him as she watched the Sanguinati orders fill the Great Hall. It looked like pretty much every damn vampire in the *dimension* had shown up to see the stupid duel. She felt like she was about to fight Tyson or something, and some insane part of her looked around for that promoter guy with the 'do that looked like he stuck his finger in a light socket. What was his name? King something?

She hadn't slept for more than half an hour that morning, even after throwing her all into a wild romp with Frost after their little 'talk', just to burn off some of the pent up tension and rage left over from her encounter with Angel. It wasn't so much that she was nervous about fighting him - she'd kicked his ass pretty squarely before, when she was *way* more conflicted than this - but that since discovering the true depths of Frost's plan, the whole situation had been cast in a new -- and really bad -- light, that didn't really lend itself to restful beauty sleep.

Buffy wasn't having fun anymore. And suddenly, she found herself just as weighed down with nagging questions and doubts as she had been before she lost her soul. Like hearing that if she won, the world might actually be *run* by the demons all around her had wakened the dark warrior deep in her cells, and brought all of her Slayer instincts to the fore.

That's what it was - total animal instinct. The cold, calculated, feral beast that constituted her Slayerness apparently didn't require all the baggage of the soul to operate. Now that same animal inside of her wouldn't leave her alone, filling her with urges she couldn't wrap her mind around. Urges to kill every monster in this room, especially the one beside her, even though it would certainly mean her death. She felt disgusted that she had given her body to someone other than her blood mate. Ashamed that said mate had treated her like nothing more than a whore when she had gone to him last night.

And most confounding of all, she knew, without a doubt, that she couldn't kill Angel. No matter what the cost. Not because she had all those old, squishy feelings toward him, but because he was in her blood, and killing him meant giving her natural enemies free reign. and destroying something fundamental inside herself that she wasn 't certain she could live without - however much he might have hurt her.

But she was stuck now. If she didn't fight, she would definitely die, and then all bets were off as to the fate of what her shadow-self considered its territory: the Earth... and her mate.

//Great. I'd rather have pangs of conscience. At least those, I could ignore.//

She did her utmost to play the part anyway, using all of her will to suppress the desire to freak out and start randomly slaughtering. She had to keep her cool. Wait for the right moment. Because certainly, Angel would have some kind of plan. all she had to do was hold him off until he brought it into play.

Even if it meant getting her soul back, the very core of her just couldn't let Frost win.

Buffy struggled not to cringe as he reached up to pat her hand companionably.

"Look at them, my sweet," he murmured, "They've come from the four corners of the world to witness our ultimate victory. I have to say... I've never been quite so proud."

"Mm," she mumbled vaguely. .//"Our" ultimate victory? I don't see *you* getting warmed up for any kind of fight for your unlife, there, Deac.//

Frost turned in his seat and peered up at her. "Nervous, pet?"

She nodded and bristled silently. "Yeah. I've never really fought in front of a crowd before."

The Prelate chuckled. "Knowing your particular flair for public displays, I have no doubt that you'll adjust. Just imagine the look on Angelus' face when he realizes that he must fight against you -- *for* you. I'm amused just imagining it."

Buffy frowned when he turned away. That fact definitely *would* throw Angel off. So much, in fact, that she could end up killing him by accident.

//Well... I guess it's a pretty good test of my skills to try *not* to kill him. Of course... been there, done that before, too.//

She let her gaze wander around the room, and had to choke back an audible gasp as all the minutiae of the scene before her suddenly fell into a cohesive picture.

This was the nightmare she'd had last year, down to the detail. The council elders lined up on the stage. the stone bleachers filled to the bursting point with bloodthirsty demons. the murals of demonic battles painted on the walls and ceilings. How was it she hadn't noticed any of this before?

The Slayer was suddenly filled with a sinking feeling of bone-shaking dread - that this fight, like that nightmare, was going to end up boiling down to kill or be killed. Angel, or herself.

Maybe she would get the wish she'd made not so long ago, and end up a permanent member of the monster mob, front and center of the push to make vampires the ruling race on the planet. Maybe she'd have to live with this sucking sensation of unreal confusion inside of her forever.

She shivered. Whatever happened next, she'd bet her left tit it wouldn't be pretty.


	26. Remains

Korin kept her eyes nailed to the floor as she hurried away from the servants' quarters. She had used practically the entire day since her mistress brought her back here to wander the compound from one end to the other, memorizing its every nook and cranny.

And more importantly... its exits.

She rushed now toward the secret doors near the westernmost end of the sprawling underground city, where one of her fellow He'airaich had informed her that their kind could sneak in and out undetected.

After she had gotten over her initial shock that her brothers and sisters would even *consider* such disobedience, she had realized that this was *exactly* the information that her mistress wished for her to gain, and right after she and Angelus had left for the Great Hall, Korin used the strange little box he gave her to speak to his friends and tell them where the entrance was.

Her mistress had made her memorize the instructions: she was to make the "call" to the human named "Wesley" (the scariest human. Just remembering his fierce countenance made her shiver.) the moment the vampires and Slayer left her mistress' chamber. Then, she was to wait until 15 minutes after sunset, and open the outer doors for the shiny brown man and his soldiers. Then she was to lead them to the Great Hall, and wait.

Wait for what, she wasn't sure, but she would do it, nonetheless.

She rounded the last corner at so quick a clip, she had run straight into a large, heavily armed Sanguinati guard before she even realized it was there.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, Sire!" she yelped, bowing deeply, "Humble apologies. I am so clumsy. Sorry."

"Where are you going in such a hurry, feeder? Where's your owner?" the big vampire snarled at her.

Korin gulped, scrambling for some story to tell.

"I, um... she is... I mean to say that..."

The vampire shoved her backwards. "Stupid cow. Why don't you stay in the pen, where you belong?"

"I... Sire... I'm to... she said she would return through this entry and... I am to meet her..."

The guard glared at her suspiciously. "I received no word to have this door opened. The Prelate has declared all routes to the outside be closed until after the challenge."

The fairy felt both of her hearts fly straight to her throat. "But... my mistress! She will be so angry!" she objected, hoping desperately that this demon was as stupid as it looked, and wouldn't bother to ask who her mistress *was*.

This lying business was not turning out to be so difficult after all.

The guard sneered at her. "Bet your mistress *really* sent you out here to get you out of her hair. Let's take a look, shall we?"

Korin took a few steps away as the vampire pushed open the thick stone door...

And coughed when his dust choked her throat. The man called "Gunn" rushed to her side.

"Hope we're not late for the party," he said with a grin.

She couldn't help but smile in return to see that the shiny man was accompanied by several dozen well-armed humans, and another 30 or more demons bringing up the rear. Grabbing Gunn's hand, she dragged him back in the direction of the Great Hall, from where she could hear the crowds chanting.

"No, you are just in time!" she cried.

Her mistress would be so pleased.

~~~~~

Darla scowled to herself. This wasn't going well at *all*.

Buffy and Angel continued to fight -- if it could even be called fighting -- with neither gaining any true advantage over the other. As battles went, it had more the taste of a chess match than any sort of duel.

She could swear that neither of them were really trying. Of course, she had expected her Childe's efforts to be half-hearted at best. The moment she had seen Buffy stand as Frost's second, she knew that nothing would come of the challenge, except possibly Angelus' death -- the one thing she did *not* want. But watching Frost sitting so smugly on *her* throne was giving her hives. She was half-tempted to take matters into her own hands, and stake him herself. Thankfully, though, she knew that in the end, she would probably not be forced to make any obvious move. Angelus' friends were no doubt already springing into action, and at any moment, she would have the distraction that she needed. Frost would be taken care of during the resulting battle. And then...

She kept a surreptitious eye on the sorcerers in the balcony above, waiting for some sign that they were about to cast. At the same time, she watched Spike fidgeting beside her, growing increasingly uncomfortable as Buffy's friends slowly worked their own spell.

If Frost's magickians began to glow first, then all was well, and she need do nothing. But if her GrandChilde withdrew the soul crystal first...

Then she would need to act. She shifted slightly, giving herself room to loosen the hide band that held a dagger concealed in the flowing sleeve of her gown.

~~~~~

Faith watched the whole thing with dread gnawing at her gut. Her instincts were totally torn: the Slayer drive to help Buffy and start dusting all these fucking vamps on one hand... the far more human desire, to help Angel, on the other. And of course, there was Spike -- her eternal X-factor. After they had... talked... earlier that morning, she thought she was pretty clear about which side he was playing for. But then, she had come back from a walk and saw his Sire leaving their room, and after that he was... different. Quiet -- which he almost never was -- and fidgety, like his coat was full of ants or something.

She knew that he was hiding something from her... something important, and that was a fact she didn't like one damn bit, especially considering the circumstances.

Had something Angel said to her lover made him change his mind? Was Spike going to yank a sword out any minute and lop her head off?

No, that was stupid. The Host had said they would walk their path together, and this morning... the way he had been with her and the words they'd exchanged, had only proven that in her mind.

Of course... it could be that Lorne was talking about the path to *Hell*, so...

The secondary Slayer struggled to keep her mind still and focus on the fight. Which would have been a *whole* lot easier if there *was* a fight. She couldn't remember ever seeing either Angel or Buffy so... off. It could have had something to do with being tired, or drained or whatever from the events of the past couple of days...

But knowing both of them as well as she did, she was pretty sure they just weren't trying very hard. She could dig Angel's game -- he was trying to hold Buffy off until the others could throw down with the mojo.

What was up with Buffy, though? She had been all gung ho about turning everybody over to the Dark Side. Why wasn't her heart in it now?

She took a deep breath as realization struck her.

Buffy was stalling too. But for what?

Faith quickly scanned the crowd, finally locating the group of robed vamps hidden in the shadows upstairs. The same group, if she had to bet, that had attacked them in the DWP tunnels, and taken Buff in the first place.

Shit.

She stepped closer to Spike and gave his duster a tug. Her lover frowned at her, and she gave a barely perceptible nod upward over her left shoulder.

His gaze ticked up and then back down again in less than a heartbeat, a quirk of his scarred brow the only indication that he saw them, too. But, much like when they were fighting together, that tiny bit of unspoken communication was more than enough. He shrugged, his expression clearly communicating, 'What are we supposed to do about it? There's a couple hundred of them, and four of us.'

Faith sighed and forced her eyes back to the dance contest before them, and prayed to the Powers Angel put so much stock in that Gunn would get here soon.

~~~~~

Back at the Hyperion, the signal came --a message from Gunn on AI's beepers.

'We're in,' the readout said.

Wesley turned and gave Old Emma a nod.

The gypsy and her three assistants began to chant: "What was lost shall be found. Not dead, nor not yet of the living, spirits of the Interregnum, we call! Let her know the pain of humanity, gods... reach your wizened hands to us -- deliver the soul of Buffy Summers..."

He retook his place in the larger outer circle, clasping Cordelia's hand on one side and Giles' on the other, and silently began to pray.

~~~~~

Angel might not be beating her... but he was steadily wearing her down. Fighting her lover was a whole lot like fighting herself... and just about as productive. It made keeping up appearances a little easier -- at least now, there wasn't really any way that she could take him by surprise, and end up hurting him -- but the effort was quickly tiring her out.

Almost as soon as she thought that, a wave of energy washed through her -- cold and dark, like liquid shadows, and in a split second, she was filled not with the drain of weariness that had begun to pull at her... but a cold fire of killing rage. As she rose back to neutral stance once more, it was like something hit her. Like the primal urges she had been feeling since last night suddenly flared, washing away the doubt, the bickering voices in her mind, the torn sensation of not knowing which way to turn...

She pulled up straight, yanked her sword into proper position, and flashed him a murderous leer. "Come on, Angel! Why are you being such a wuss? Fight!" she barked, taking an angry swing with her sword.

He parried her move, but barely managed to avoid her. The expression on her face frightened him... there was true hatred there now, where previously there had been only a half-hearted determination. For a while, he had hoped...

Now as she attacked, her all was behind it. There was a fire in her eyes he had never seen focused on him before... except when he was soulless. She was really fighting, now.

He blocked her latest blow and countered with a parry of his own, driving her back.

"I am fighting," he replied, trying not to let the sudden cold fingers of fear clutching his heart reveal themselves in his voice.

"FIGHT ME, DAMN YOU!" she raged, "You're holding back!"

Angel made a couple of beautiful - but ultimately ineffectual - moves. "So are you."

"Not anymore!" she screamed. "I've had enough of beating around the bush with you. Now..." she thrust suddenly, driving him back, "You're," another swing, which he was barely able to avoid, "Going to learn," she drove upward with the sword, while kicking with her strong leg, "What a Slayer's all about!"

//What the Hell is going on?// Angel wondered as he stumbled back, leaping up to avoid her suddenly very focused... and powerful... advance. What had happened to her? A few minutes ago, she seemed to be avoiding this as much as he was. And now...

He had no time to wonder more than that, as her assault pushed relentlessly forward. To defend, he was forced to let the demon to the fore, needing its speed and strength to counter her.

It was then that he noticed the jeweled hilt of the sword she carried - five emeralds in the shape of scorpions.

The Sword of Creldar - better known among demons as the Sword of Rage. He remembered with a flash of terror how coveted that weapon had been by many of the Masters that he had encountered over the years... essentially, it would turn even the most mediocre warrior into a fanatical berzerker.

And Buffy was no mediocre warrior.

//Shit.//

And with that thought, the enchanted blonde let the barely tethered Slayerbeast loose, and giving a roar that split the air and a burst of inhuman speed, leapt straight up, tucking into a summersault, and landed squarely on one foot before him. With the other, and the momentum she'd gained, she kicked his sword arm with all of her might, and gave a victorious shout as his weapon flew from his grip and clattered across the chamber.

The crowd, which had once again lost enthusiasm during the weak excuse for a melee, suddenly exploded into a new round of cheering.

Buffy didn't hear them. She heard nothing but the roar of the blood rushing through her veins, and already, she was driving forward mercilessly, delivering a series of blinding kicks, punches, and thrusts to her opponent that forced him to block her with bare hands as he backed away. She landed more than a few, and Angel was quickly covered in cuts and bruises.

The gallery once again began to chant, "Death! Death! Death! Death! Death!"

"They're singing your song, *vampire*!" she screeched, kicking him twice in the gut in quick succession, then raising the heavy sword up into a beheading trajectory as he stumbled, winded and stunned, and now unarmed, falling helplessly to his knees before her.

"NO!" Darla and Faith shrieked in unison, both rushing toward him, but Spike bodily held them back.

"Close your eyes, lover," Buffy snarled, reveling in the purity of the hatred blazing through her. Hatred of him and all that he stood for. Hatred of the part of herself that wept senselessly for the love of him.

Angel grimaced in pain, but forced his eyes up to her with a weak smile.

"I love you," he murmured... and waited.

Buffy growled, pulling her sword back, prepared to end this abomination once and for all.

But then, in a flash, something inside her reared its head. The clamoring debate she had been struggling with earlier reasserted itself, and she knew... Frost had done something to her. She could feel it running over her skin, originating from the sword. Something that made her want to kill Angel, when only a little while ago, she had thought there was no way that she could.

She stopped. For a moment, she stood there, staring at him... the homicidal rage that filled her coloring her vision even as her consciousness began to clear. The sword vibrated in her hands, screaming at her... KILL HIM!

She looked down at the helpless vampire she loved and loathed, wanted and hated all at once as he waited patiently for death to take him.

Death wearing her face... again.

"What are you waiting for?" Frost bellowed, "FINISH HIM!"

The soulless Slayer let her blade drop to the floor.

"I can't," she said softly, more to Angel than to the crowd, which once again fell into a stunned silence.

Her lover coughed violently, spitting a mouthful of blood on the floor, then gave her another smile. "I never thought you could," he replied.

"THEN BOTH OF YOU WILL DIE!" Frost raged, leaping to his feet, grabbing a sword from the sheath of the nearest guard, and rushing them.

Buffy turned to face him, putting herself squarely between the enraged vampire and her wounded mate.

"You're not getting anywhere *near* him!" she barked.

"TREACHEROUS WHORE!" the Prelate screamed as he advanced, "I offered you *everything*! And you dare take that *whelp's* side over mine?"

Buffy said nothing, initially, using all of her energy instead to counteract his furious attack... but with whatever spell he'd cast on her still trying to work, and her own exhaustion, it wasn't easy.

"You had to cast a spell on me to make me want you!" she bit out.

Frost's eyes burned with hatred. "Did you think I really wanted *you*? You're not that interesting, my dear. I simply wanted you to wound *him*!"

Another flurry of punches, thrusts and kicks followed. Buffy could feel the new burst of magickal energy already wearing away... and Frost was spring fresh... and obviously *nuts*.

The gallery began to hum excitedly at the thrilling new development, and Darla and Faith once again began to struggle against Spike's efforts to hold them back.

"LET ME GO!" the Slayer screamed, "We have to help them!"

"No! You gotta wait, Pet. It's not time yet," he growled at her.

Darla stopped struggling and forced herself to stand back and look up at the wizards in the balcony.

They had begun to chant.

Spike yelped in pain as the Buffyrock began to burn through his coat and shirt, and tore the damn thing from the pocket. It glowed an angry fire red, and forced him to j uggle it from hand to hand to avoid burning his fingers.

He had to think that was some sort of sign.

Angel dragged himself to his feet, stunned by the sudden realization that not only was Buffy's sword enchanted to force her to fight, but it was poisoned, as well. He was almost too weak to move at all, and he could feel the blood inside him moving sluggishly, as if it had turned to syrup. Not a killing poison, obviously, but enough to slow him down and let *her* take him out.

The room spun all around him, and he fought to stay on his feet... tried to focus his vision... then he saw Buffy a few yards away, quickly losing ground against Frost. She was panting hard, and he could see that even her Slayer strength was barely sufficient to continue wielding the heavy sword. The Prelate was getting closer to her, shrieking curses in Latin at her as he backed her steadily into a corner beside the throne dais.

Angel turned stiffly, his movements growing progressively clumsier as the poison spread. He located Spike near the gallery wall, holding the soul crystal aloft. For a moment, the awesome sight of it stunned him further... it pulsed with blood red energy, as though it too were spoiling to be in the fight.

He almost smiled. Of course his lover's spirit would want to *act* -- that was always the way she dealt with trouble.

Emma had warned him that the stone would change drastically immediately before the casting, and even above the sounds of the crowd screaming for his and Buffy's blood, and the pained ringing in his ears, he could feel the bond burgeoning, the soulstone's song growing louder...

'FIGHT!' It seemed to scream inside of him. Despite the agony in his every muscle, he forced himself to move toward where his lover faced off with the demon that had stolen her from him.

But before he moved more than a few feet, the sounds of battle outside the Great Hall cut through the din of the crowd inside. The enormous doors burst open, and an army swept inside, led by Gunn and Korin.

Angel smiled to himself as the room erupted into chaos. Vampires spilled from the bleachers in a roaring flood, and soon, the entire length and breadth of the cavernous chamber was consumed with fighting.

He had to get to Buffy. *Now.*

Mustering every last reserve of strength inside of him, pushing his body's pain down, he set the demon free. With a roar of rage, he ripped the head off the vampire nearest him, grabbed its sword before it had finished turning to dust, and plowed into the melee.

~~~~~

Darla hadn't had a good fight since... well, since Angelus had killed her, actually.

She had quickly been separated from her GrandChilde and the Slayer when the fighting broke out. Her rapier firmly in hand, she cut through the demons that descended everywhere, uncaring what she was killing as she battled her way toward the balcony stairs.

She had to get to Frost's sorcerers before they cast the spell that would finally remove this disgusting soul from her shell.

The vampiress sliced a swath through the maelstrom of blood, body parts and dust all around her, until she made it to the opposite side of the dais from where Frost and several of his men were attacking the obviously exhausted Slayer.

//Good. I hope it hurts.//

But then she felt, as much as heard, Angel's arrival.

As she turned to watch him come, something inside of her went utterly still and silent. Her Childe was broken and bleeding, and from the green undertone of his pale skin, and the slight stiffness of his movements, she realized that he must have been poisoned.

And still, like a warrior straight out of legend, he came. Like Death himself, her First Made sliced, ripped, and kicked his way through any who dared block his path, leaving a cloud of dust like a desert sandstorm in his wake.

He was magnificent... so beautiful in the pure might of his protective fury, and much like that first night she spotted him, brawling with abandon in that dreadful Irish backwater pub, she was entranced.

Her beloved had lost none of his fire by regaining his soul. In fact, as she stood hidden in the stairwell which led to her salvation, she thought that she had never seen him burn quiet so brightly. Never seen him so raw and wild with power.

All because of one tiny human.

Had he been right then? Was love like that the greatest power in the universe? His bond with the Slayer seemed indomitable... unbreakable. Was there anything else in all the dimensions that could survive what that bond... that dedication... had?

Stunned, she gaped at him. She had been so certain that her only option was to take advantage of Frost's magickal attack on Angel's soul to rid herself of her own curse. To be restored to what she once was, just as her beloved would be, and then they would take back the night together. Be done with the pain that she had to force down every moment of every day... the ghosts that haunted her... the nightmares that left her screaming and sweat-soaked, completely without rest. She wanted, more than anything, to be powerful... undefeatable... once again.

But now as she watched the progeny of her heart's blood advance, a vision of loyalty and vengeance like nothing she had ever witnessed before, she remembered his words...

**But having an understanding of right and wrong -- and acting on that -- is a power all its own. Love is power. Loving someone... being willing to give everything you are to them... for them... that's power, too. A source of strength like nothing you can imagine. You can *have* that now, don't you see?**

She only had a moment to decide. The magickians above had begun to glow a deep, cold blue, their spell spilling over the side of the balcony railing like a mist. While below, across the dais, the crimson light of the Slayer's stone had enveloped Spike, and begun to snake outward toward the place where Buffy's body was embroiled in combat with Frost.

To be what she once was... or to be what she might yet be... that was now her question.

~~~~~

Buffy took the head of yet another of Frost's guards, and then stumbled, weak from fatigue and the draining power of the spell he'd cast on her. The Prelate held up his hand to order his henchmen back as he stepped toward her.

She crouched in defensive position, the glowing sword trembling noticeably in her blood soaked hands.

Frost smiled at her. "Had enough then, Buffy? I don't want to kill you. There is still a great deal we might accomplish together, despite your little... transgression."

"Don't come any closer," the Slayer snarled as she struggled to raise her weapon.

His expression was mock-gentle. "Come now, my dear. You know you can't hope to win. Your people are hopelessly outnumbered, and the magick they are attempting will fail. Mine, however, will not." With his sword-free hand, he reached out to her. "Come. Let's be away from here. In a few moments, it will be over, and not a creature in this room will still possess a soul. When that happens, you won't feel quite so... torn, I assure you."

Buffy forced herself to step back. "It doesn't matter if I have a soul or not. Take another step, and you're Dustbuster food."

He shook his head and chuckled softly. "Dear Buffy. I admit, your spirit is much of what I like best about you. And whether you admit it or not, I think you enjoy spending time with me."

"Junk food and a couple of mediocre *fucks* aren't enough to make me *enjoy* spending time with you, *Deac*," she spat.

She watched his face change as his rage got the best of him once more. It was the first time she'd seen it since they met, and found that the *way* it morphed horrified her straight down to her complete lack of soul. She was so used to the face of the demon - from Angel's own countenance and from all those she had battled over the years: the ridged forehead, the mouthful of jagged fangs. Monstrous, but right.

Deacon Frost's face, however, barely changed at all. He looked more like the vampires from the movies - canines elongated, eyes glowing angry blood red, but other than that, still completely human.

Funny that this particular detail scared her more than anything else she'd ever seen in her life, somehow.

The Prelate saw her shocked hesitation, and grinned hungrily as he advanced on her. "Ah. Not so sure of your superiority now, are you, Slayer? You think that you've played with monsters... but the creatures that you fight - the one you fuck - are merely children. Barely pups. I have lived for eight *centuries*... demon and man are no longer so separate in me. This is what you took into your body, Buffy. And now you will know what it truly means to dance with the vampire!"

She cowered in fatigue and terror, unable to move any farther or raise the sword to defend herself.

"But I was hoping I could have this dance," Angel snarled from behind him.

The Prelate spun to face his most hated enemy. "Angelus! How kind of you to join us. Come to watch me turn your beloved before I rip your soul away?"

The younger vampire's amber eyes burned cold, and his voice rang even colder. Which, ironically enough, gave Buffy some measure of comfort as she sagged against the wall.

"You won't be touching her again," Angel informed his opponent, and attacked.

~~~~~

The vamps were quadruple-teaming Faith as she put herself between the crowd and an apparently defenseless Spike. She could feel the magick growing stronger as it devoured her lover, and the creeps up and down her spine multiplied as he began to chant in some language she didn't recognize, like he was possessed or something.

She really hoped this was part of *their* plan, and not Frost's. Maybe she should have paid closer attention when Angel was explaining what they had to do...

She pushed her feelings aside, leaving nothing but the old fighting fury to control her, as if she too were possessed. She spun and flipped, chopped and leapt so that she was almost everywhere at once, covering all the vulnerable angles the swelling throng of attackers tried to use to get to Spike.

She had no idea how the magick was supposed to work... she only knew that her lover was somehow the center of it, and for that fact alone, she had to keep him safe. At the same time that she fought, she tried to wrangle them both closer to Buffy and Angel. The heat of the spell spread out from Spike and touched her back, and she knew that it was almost time.

Just a couple more feet...

~~~~~

Buffy felt it too... that same awful sensation of bugs crawling under her skin that she'd had when Angel tried to restore her soul from a distance. Only this time, the bugs were on *fire*... agony ripped through her already weak body, doubling her over in its wake.

Then the sword began to hum, and once again, she was overwhelmed with powerful rage, driven by her pain. "NO!" she screamed, spinning to seek out the source of the torture ripping through her like shards of broken glass.

She spotted Spike... or at least, what Spike had become. The red light from the stone he held in his hand had completely consumed his form, so that none of his details were visible through it. The energy was spreading outward away from him, spilling over Faith and the vamps that surrounded them...

And headed straight for her.

She shrieked in panicked rage and sprinted towards her lover's Childe, instinctively raising her sword with the burst of self-defensive adrenaline that rushed through her. But before she got more than a few feet away, the Faith-shaped light spun towards her, getting directly in the path her sister Slayer's deranged attack.

"You'll have to come through me to get to him!" the Faith-thing bellowed.

"SUITS ME!" Buffy screamed, forcing herself beyond the pain that ripped through her, wiping away her sense.

Angel heard Buffy screaming, but couldn't turn away from Frost's continued advance. The elder vampire had obviously snapped, and now ranted incoherently in various languages as he swung continuously at his opponent.

"You will *NOT* take this from me! She is mine! I will have your soul, and then your HEAD!"

Angel ducked low and rolled awkwardly away. When he stood once more, he faced the corner where Spike now stood, and found Buffy attacking him and Faith as though she too had gone mad.

"BUFFY, NO!"

If she killed his Childe, he would lose her forever.

With a burst of strength, he kicked Frost, sending him flying across the dais...

And directly into the path of the crossbow bolt Darla had just fired from a few feet away.

The Prelate stared down at the wooden point protruding from his chest in horrified shock, and then spun to glare at her.

"Have a nice time in Hell, Deacon, dear," Darla drawled as his flesh crumbled to dust, leaving his ancient bones to clatter to the floor.

She took her time using the crossbow to pound them into powder.

~~~~~

Time crawled to an eerie slow motion as Angel struggled to get to where the two Slayers now faced off. The red magick of the soul spell swirled like a cloud of blood in the air, reaching out with fingerlike strands to clutch at both women.

Buffy was winning. She had driven her sister and Spike back against the wall, and was about to deliver a blow that would behead them both in one stroke.

He reached her just in time, and with a pang of regret, landed a spinning kick to the back of her head. His mate crumpled to the floor, and Angel silently prayed that she would stay there.

But she didn't. And as she bounded to her feet, the twisted rage and pain that marked her features made her barely recognizable, even to him.

"YOU!" she shrieked, and advanced on him, "YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!"

He countered defensively. "It's almost over, Buffy! Just hold on! Please!"

"*YOU'RE* ALMOST OVER!" She raged, and swung wildly once again.

Despite her madness, she was still weak, and Angel managed to grab the elbow of her sword arm, halting her only a few inches from his neck.

"I'm sorry, Ionuin," he told her softly.

"For what? For being such a loser? FOR KILLING ME? AARRRGH!" she howled in agony, struggling against his grasp to escape the magick as it finally engulfed her.

Angel winced as the burning spread from where his hand gripped her arm, rushing like a wildfire of pain through his entire body, but still held her fast.

"No. For this," he replied, hauling back with all of his remaining strength and delivering a bone-crushing punch to her face.

The last of his will and energy gone, he caught his lover's unconscious form in his arms, cushioning her fall as they both crashed to the ground.

Darla looked up from her satisfying task, almost overcome with a primal urge to roll around in the remains of her enemy that crunched beneath her feet.

But when she saw the bolt of blue lightning screaming through the already magick-glutted air, directly toward her Childe's still form a few feet away...

"ANGEL!" she screamed, and dove for him.

The blue magick of the Sanguinati struck her at the same moment her forward motion propelled her into the red light of the restoration that surrounded the vampires and Slayers. The two energies met, and the room exploded in purple light, the air filled with agonized screams, billowing smoke, and a million sparks of crackling fire.

When the maelstrom cleared again, Gunn found the two vamps he had just been fighting collapsed in a heap on the floor at his feet. He looked around in confusion. Every *one* of the vampires were still, littering the chamber like a carpet of undead flesh. The only beings left standing were his own men and the mercenaries Lorne had helped them hire.

"What the FUCK just happened?" he yelped. "That wasn't supposed to happen! Was it?"

Korin peered up from where she knelt, cradling her unconscious mistress in her arms. "I believe that this battle is over. We should call Angelus' friends," she replied.


	27. Restoration

Consciousness dawned on Angel slowly... bringing with it a pain that felt like a hundred swords were ripping through every inch of his body... and each one tipped with holy water.

He groaned softly, but even that low sound exploded inside his skull. He swallowed stiffly, his throat parched, and tried to move.

Only to find that he was completely unable to do anything but twitch his fingers, turn his ((heavy)) head, and open his eyes.

Darla reclined in a chair beside the bed, to which he discovered he was soundly chained.

"What..." he croaked, and swallowed once more. "What's going on? Where are we?"

His Sire tilted her head slightly, examining him through narrowed eyes. "We are in your hotel," she informed him.

He looked around. It was a small measure of relief to find that she was right - it was his bed he was bound to... his dark bedroom. But the question remained -- *why* was he chained? And another - how had he gotten there? Soon his pounding head was drowning in confused questions, all rushing in to fill the holes in his memory.

"What's going on?" he managed to bark, "Why am I chained up?"

The blonde vampire gazed deeply into his red-rimmed eyes, searching...

"How do you feel?" she asked, keeping her tone neutral.

Angel bristled under her scrutiny. "Like I'm chained to my bed! What the Hell's is this, Darla!?"

She took a deep, relieved breath. "You still have your soul."

"Of course I do!" he rasped, "Why wouldn't I?"

Her eyes ticked away, and her brow furrowed. "After what happened in the Great Hall, we weren't sure. You don't remember?"

Angel paused for a moment, and tried to relax... clear his muddled head. As he did, the pictures began to come... the Sanguinati compound... fighting with Buffy...

"Unchain me. Now," he commanded, his voice tight.

Darla frowned. "I can't until I'm certain."

He trembled as anger and worry rushed through him. "Where's Buffy?"

"Angel, perhaps..."

"*WHERE* IS *BUFFY*?" he shouted, struggling fruitlessly against the chains, "WHERE IS SHE?"

She stared at him for another moment, then, deciding he wasn't dangerous, got up and undid the heavy lock at his feet. But before she could unwind the chains, Angel tore them away from his body and leapt to his feet.

"You should wait. Rest," his Sire insisted, trying to stop him from dashing out of the door.

"Get out of my way," he hissed, and shoved past her.

He had never run so fast in his life... and never had four flights of stairs seemed such a very long way to travel. He came crashing at full speed through the door to the ground floor, and charged into the lobby.

His frantic gaze scoured the room, quickly noting and dismissing each of the worried, weary, battered faces gathered there. All of them seemed safe and well, but where was...

Buffy sat curled up at the end of one of the couches, huddled close to Willow. As their eyes met, he felt the link snap open, stronger and clearer than ever, and his lover's fear and pain, love and crushing guilt rushed into him in a wave that took a vise grip on his heart.

Angel froze for a heartbeat, staring as she stiffly got to her feet. The trembling that had begun in him upstairs completely consumed him, and he couldn't seem to find the will to make himself move.

But he did. Slowly, at first, and then, when only a few feet still separated himself and Buffy, he stumbled forward, and with a heart-wrenching sob, grabbed her and crushed her to him.

The Slayer threw her arms around him and the lovers burst into hysterics as they clung desperately to one another, both babbling incoherently through their sobs, and wordlessly through the link.

"Buffy! Oh, God, are you okay?" 'Angel, I'm so sorry!' 'I thought I'd lost you!' "I never thought I'd see you again!" "I love you. God, Buffy. I love you so much!" "I love you too! Oh, Angel!"

He finally pulled away, and gently reached up to touch her swollen eye.

"I'm so sorry I hurt you," he whispered, tears streaming down his face.

"I'm sorry, too," she replied, and flew back into his arms.

Their friends looked on, not a one dry-eyed. Even Spike took a step closer to Faith, put his arm around her and pulled her tightly to his side, closing his eyes and burying his face in her hair.

Darla quietly joined the group, wearing a pleased smile.

"He still has his soul," she announced.

"Yeah, thanks. I think we got that," Xander quipped, tugging Anya a little closer as they all watched the vampire and Slayer cry in one another's relieved embrace.

~~~~~

"From what we've been able to deduce," Wesley explained, pacing slowly back and forth in front of the weary assembly, "Frost's spell and ours were cast at precisely the same moment, creating the reaction that Gunn and Korin described."

"Frankly," Giles added from his perch, leaning against the reception desk, "I believe we were extremely fortunate that our magick succeeded... and that no one but Buffy had the state of their soul altered."

"With the exception of the majority of the Court, of course," Darla corrected him, "At our initial count, there were 153 souls restored among the Sanguinati."

Doyle whistled. "That's a lotta tortured vamps."

"It could be," the vampiress agreed, "Although we won't be certain of the true results for several days. Most haven't regained consciousness as of yet. But either way, I'm afraid I have my work cut out for me as Prelate."

Angel gave her a weary smile over Buffy's head, not relaxing his death grip on his mate for even a second. "We'll help as much as we can, don't worry."

His Sire smiled affectionately at him. "As the Master of Los Angeles, and my Childe, it is your duty. And, rather... your field of expertise."

"You lot are lucky *I* didn't catch a soul," Spike griped. "Or I'd be mighty pissed off right about now."

Emma smirked at him, exchanging a knowing look with the others.

"What?" the blond snapped, noting her expression, as well as an almost identical one on Angel's face. "I *don't* have a soul, so what the Hell are you bloody well grinning at?"

Wesley chuckled. The gypsy woman came closer to the vampire and gently touched his arm. "You were protected from the side effects of the magick because you were the second vessel that delivered the Slayer's essence to her shell."

It took a moment for her words to sink in, but when they did, a look of incredulous horror swept across his face.

"I HAD THE SLAYER'S SOUL IN ME?" he bellowed, "You... that's... DISGUSTING!" He began to pace furiously, swiping at his skin as if he'd developed a rash. "What the fuck is the MATTER with you people? I said I'd HOLD the damn thing - you never said anything about having it IN me! Where the fuck do you get off shoving that shit in a bloke against his will?"

"It was the only way we could be certain the Slayer's spirit could travel unhindered from the stone to her body. With all of the magick around the compound, there was a possibility that it would be lost in the transfer," Emma clarified. "We needed a focal point that was somehow tied to her, yet not already possessed of a soul, to act as a bridge. You are the blood relation of her soulbound mate, and..."

"I don't give a flying fuck if I'm her bloody MUM!" he shrieked. "UGH! I've got... Slayer soul all over me!" With a final angry huff, he stomped upstairs.

Faith frowned as she watched him go, and Emma offered her a gentle smile.

"Perhaps you should speak to him, Faith," she encouraged.

The secondary Slayer nodded and hurried after her lover, as the others looked on in amusement.

Giles cleared his throat. "Yes. So... back to the matter at hand. I think perhaps the most important result of this... experience... is the information we've gained regarding the Gate. We now know that, rather than being a collection of artifacts, as we had assumed, the portal will be comprised of Angel, Buffy, Faith and Spike. Now that we are aware of this, it will undoubtedly afford us some advantage in deciphering the rest of the prophecies. Perhaps from there, we can deduce how we can best avail ourselves of this magick."

Buffy glanced up from the spot she'd been staring absently at all day. "There's supposed to be two more parts - the Key. Or at least..." her gaze ticked to Angel beside her, and returned quickly to the floor, her voice dropping to an uncomfortable mumble. "That's what... Frost told me."

Angel ignored the pang of pain that shot through his heart, and gave her a tight squeeze. Buffy had been blocking the link ever since their initial reunion was over, and although he was anxious to know how she was feeling, and start working through everything that had happened, it was more than clear that she wasn't ready to share it with him yet. He didn't push, instead just allowing himself to be exultant over the simple fact that she was alive and whole, and back by his side, where she belonged.

The rest could wait.

"It's unfortunate that he had to be destroyed," Wesley lamented, "He might have proved to be an invaluable resource... especially with a soul."

Darla snorted derisively. "Deacon Frost was nothing but a megalomaniac and a psychopath. He'd convoluted the meanings of the Luciestat prophecies in his own mind to suit his own ends. Besides, the majority of the priests whose duty it was to study the books survived. Once they are in a more stable condition, we'll be able to utilize their knowledge. Plus, we have full access to the texts themselves."

Angel couldn't help but be amazed at Darla's change in demeanor. Not that she was any more pleasant or sweet to anyone who wasn't him, but her determination to build a new council on the ruins of the old was encouraging.

"You know, that all sounds real nice," Doyle cut in, "But not every Sanguinati vamp in the world got a soul. Do you really think they're just gonna accept that you're the Queen Bee now? Especially when you're on *our* side?"

The vampiress gave the half-demon a chilly smile. "They have no choice in the matter," she stated unequivocally, "I hold the seat in full accordance with the Law. Anyone who dares question that will be dealt with accordingly."

The gathered friends exchanged awkward glances, but no one added any further comment. Angel knew her tone... if she said the vampires under her control would fall into line... she meant it. And they would.

Giles once again took it upon himself to change the subject. "Buffy, I realize that you're still tired from your ordeal..."

His foster daughter raised her gaze to him with an expression of utter misery. "Yeah. Tired," she muttered.

"But I think perhaps we should discuss what else you remember about this whole incident while it's still clear in your mind. What you've experienced has never happened before, to my knowledge."

Wesley nodded in enthusiastic agreement. "Absolutely. We should fully document all the details of your adventure for future reference. Certainly what you've survived can tell us a great deal about the nature of the soul and its role in humanity than even Angel has been able to provide."

"Yeah, especially considering he's *not* human," Cordy observed mockingly.

Wesley shot her a smirk. "Quite."

"Um... sure," Buffy mumbled unenthusiastically. "What do you want to know?"

Angle felt her body tense against him, drawing away almost imperceptibly. Despite her blocking the link, her feelings leaked out in ever-stronger waves as she considered the notion of talking about what had happened to her. Fear. Shame. A bone-deep weariness.

Emma noticed as well, and interceded. "Perhaps we should allow Buffy to recover a bit before we begin grilling her, hm?"

Giles immediately relented, chagrined. "Yes, of course."

The younger Englishman, however, was not so quick to let the matter drop. "I don't mean to be insensitive, but Buffy possesses information about the plans of our enemies, and weapons we may use against them, that might prove vital in the days to come. Don't you agree that we should address those as soon as possible? Buffy's in one piece... she can take her time."

The subject of their conversation began to tremble.

"Emma's right," Angel affirmed, trying to hold her closer even as she pulled farther away. He could feel a sensation/sound like a long, agonized, panicked whine seeping through the link. "She shouldn't have to talk about this until she's ready."

"I'm fine," Buffy insisted softly.

He gazed gently down at her. "You're not fine. You're exhausted. And you're shaking like a leaf," he observed softly.

Her head shot up, and anger flashed in her eyes, pulsing through the link and shoving him back. "I said I'm *fine*." She turned toward Wesley again. "What do you want to know?"

Angel refused to move away from her, despite the fact that her reaction to his concern was like a blow straight to his heart.

Wesley glanced uncomfortably from Buffy to Angel to Emma and back again. "I, er... perhaps... perhaps the others make a valid point, Buffy. You should get some rest. This can certainly wait... uh... a while longer."

"No," she insisted angrily. "I want to get it over with."

"Buffy," Giles began to argue.

Her glare turned on him. "Look. I said I'm all right. I feel *fine*. I don't *need* you guys to tell me when I'm ready to talk, okay?"

Angel sighed as she pulled away, sliding to the end of the couch.

"Oookay," Xander cut in with forced levity, "Anybody for lunch?"

"ME!" Anya, Doyle, Cordelia, Tara and Willow all concurred heartily, immediately jumping from their various seats and heading for the kitchen. Oz nodded, and followed his mates. Even Darla decided that now might be a good time to get back to her own work, and moved toward the basement exit.

"Little warrior," Emma began once the others were gone, moving toward where the Slayer sat, avoiding her gaze. "I don't mean to tell you your business, but your friends are correct. Now is the time for you to focus on healing. Debriefing can be postponed for a few days."

Buffy shot from her seat, making everyone jump.

"I don't NEED to recover!" she barked. "I've got some bumps and bruises and a black eye! Big DEAL! I've been in *way* worse shape than this before!"

The gypsy came closer, speaking gently, as though the Slayer were a wounded animal. "You have just experienced a trauma unlike anything you have survived before. You are weak in spirit. Wounded in your heart. This requires far more than a few hours' rest to overcome."

Buffy's quivering increased, and she looked very much like a wounded animal as she cowered, shrinking away from her old friend. Tears streamed down her face as she shouted, "What's the big deal? So I lost my soul! So I went nuts and tried to kill Angel, and fucked an evil demon and plotted the end of the world! So what? Why would I be traumatized over that?" The last words exploded into a sob, and she ran out onto the veranda, slamming the doors behind her.

Wesley, Giles and Emma exchanged pained glances, as Angel closed his eyes, fighting against his own tears, and prepared to get up. "I'll talk to her."

Emma reached out a hand to halt him. "No. I think for now... you, especially, need to let her be. I will speak with young Buffy."

Angel let his head fall back against the couch as the old woman shuffled off after his lover.

Wesley and Giles looked at one another again, and the younger of the pair moved to sit on the couch beside his aggrieved friend.

"Angel," he began gently, "I realize that now may not be the best time, but... Giles and I discovered some things in the prophecies that we believe you should be made aware of."

The vampire dragged his gaze upward. "I hope it's something good."

Giles nodded, and sat on the chair across from the two men, giving Angel the best smile he could muster, under the circumstances. "I think you'll be quite pleased, actually."

"Yes," Wesley agreed, "It might shed a new light on your current situation... and your future."

Angel sighed and rubbed his aching temples. "Okay, then." He bravely met each of the ex-Watchers' gazes in turn. "Hit me."

~~~~~

For a long time, neither Faith nor Spike said anything. The vampire stood near the window, looking out the edge of the curtain at the fading remains of the day, while his lover sat on the end of their bed, watching him.

"Look," the Slayer finally began, steeling herself against the ache eating away at her heart. "I'm not going to hold you to all that stuff you said the other night. You had Buffy's soul influencing you, so... we can just forget about it. No hard feelings."

Spike sighed and let the curtain fall shut, but didn't turn toward her or reply.

"Really, Spike, it's cool," she persisted with all the strength she could muster. "I totally understand. I'm not wicked pissed or anything. There was a lot going on, and you were confused and upset, and you just got carried away. I'm not going to expect you to..."

"Stop," he interrupted softly. "Just... shut up, okay?"

Faith's mouth snapped shut, and she fought against the tears that flooded her eyes. "Yeah. Sure," she replied softly.

Spike finally glanced at her, staring for a good, long time, trying to discern if what he'd been feeling the other night was in any way a result of being polluted by Buffy's soul.

His lover sat on the bed, staring down at her hands in her lap, her posture clearly one of defeat, despite her best attempts to remain stoic. Her long hair spilled like a waterfall of thick, shining chestnut over her shoulders, her pretty features turned down in a miserable frown.

Nope. It was all still there.

He moved over to sit down on the bed beside her, tucking a gentle fingertip under her chin to raise her teary eyes to his.

"Listen, Faith. What happened between us the other night had nothing to do with Buffy's soul. I meant every damn word of it."

She blinked rapidly, as though she had been expecting him to say pretty much anything but that, and frowned even harder. "Don't fuck with me, Spike. Not about this. Not now."

He gave her a little smile. "Not fucking with you, Pet. I'm not gonna lie... I'm pretty damn pissed about the whole vessel thing. In fact, I think I'm gonna have to give my Sire a solid ass-beating later on. But..." his voice softened, and he tenderly stroked her cheek. "I was in love with you a long damn time before any of this even started. I do love you, Faith. I swear that's the truth."

She swallowed uncomfortably, her gaze flitting away as her body tensed.

Spike backed off. "But if you're having second thoughts..."

The Slayer's frown deepened even further.

To his surprise, Spike found himself upset to think that maybe the magick didn't affect his feelings... but it might have affected hers.

"Hey," he announced with forced bravado. "No skin off my balls. Humans get all mushy when they're upset. I won't hold you to it, either."

He began to get up, but Faith grabbed his hand. Their eyes met once again.

"No. I... meant it, too," she insisted tearfully. "I do... feel that way about you. It's just..." She shook her head and sighed. "I've never been... you know... before. It's not something I'm good at. And... I'm just... scared, I guess. The whole trust thing."

Spike smiled tenderly and put his arm around her. "You'll get over it. I'm irresistible that way."

Faith couldn't help but grin. "And modest too."

"When you're as amazing as me, darlin', modesty's just a big waste of everybody's time." He gave her a playful shove. "Besides... Fates say you're stuck with me, so... might as well just go with it."

She shoved him back. "If you think this is going to turn me into some mushy girly chick, you're in for a nasty surprise, Fangboy. I'm still me. Even if I have gone totally off the deep end and fallen for an evil, drunken creep. Which, when I think about my mom and dad, is probably genetic."

Her vampire lover laughed and drew her into his arms. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Slayer," he said, and kissed her softly. When he pulled away, he looked deeply into her eyes. "I think I might have an idea how to show you that I'm serious, though..."

The secondary Slayer arched an eyebrow at him suspiciously. "What? You're not gonna... like, bring me something dead as a sign of devotion, are you?"

"Nah. Better than that. But first... how are you at blackjack?" he grinned mischievously.


	28. Home Again With Lessons Learned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS: Angel calls Buffy "anail a m'anam"- "breath of my soul". I know I've used it before, but it's my favorite. *sigh* "Ni dheanfaidh me e sin go deo scaoileadh le rud tusa aris. Faic tar go deo choiche! Deo aris!" - This was the hardest translation I've ever done, and I'm fairly sure I slaughtered it horribly. It translates, very roughly, as "I'll never let you go again. Nothing will ever come before you. Never!" Any fluent speakers want to lend a hand? *g*

Old Emma was unsurprised to find Buffy curled up in the very loveseat where she had found Angel moping just a few days before. And much like that scene, all the soft strains of the lovers' bonding in this spot were overwhelmed by the sharp melancholy of the Slayer's sorrow.

"Would you mind if I join you?" she asked the despondent girl.

Buffy shrugged, not moving her head from its perch on her drawn-up knees.

The gypsy eased her old bones into the seat and joined her young friend in looking out at the courtyard. The sunset cast the garden in peaceful rose and blue-grey shadows, giving it an air that quite reminded her of the two lovers -- shadows and light, the bloom of life and the ever-present company of death, all blended together in one magnificently eternal dance.

"Would you like to talk about it?" the crone inquired gently.

"No," her companion replied.

Emma nodded. But a few seconds later, the Slayer spoke again.

"I wish you hadn't brought me back."

The elder woman glanced at her in surprise. "Oh? You would prefer we abandon you where and to what you were, then?"

Buffy frowned miserably. "Yes. It would have been a lot easier for everyone if Angel had just killed me."

"Mm," the were-cat commented, "I see."

"I don't know how to deal with this," the younger woman lamented, "It hurts so much. What I did... the things I said... he must hate me."

The gypsy turned to glance at her. "Do you really think so?"

A single tear trickled down the Slayer's cheek. "I betrayed him. I cheated on him. I tried to kill him. How could he not?"

"Well... I cannot answer for your mate's feelings on this matter, Buffy. Only he can do that for you. But I can say... if he hates you, he is concealing it splendidly."

Buffy glared at her. "How can you joke about this? After everything we've been through together, I *tried* to hurt him. I *wanted* to hurt him! And once he gets over being glad I'm not dead, that's going to hit him, and then it's all over."

Emma tilted her head quizzically. "You think he will leave you then?"

The younger woman shrugged. "Why wouldn't he? I would. In fact, I almost did. And all he did was *kiss* Darla."

"True," the old gypsy agreed, turning her gaze back to the garden once more.

"That's it? 'True'? You don't have anything better than that?" the blonde retorted.

"What would you like for me to say? You believe what you believe, young Buffy. If you truly think that Angel can't forgive what has happened... if you honestly suppose that you would have left him for his transgression, how am I to convince you otherwise?"

Buffy sniffled. "Because you always talk us down when we're being stupid."

Emma tucked her own legs beneath her, and hid a smile behind her knees. "So you think that you are being stupid, then?"

"No," the Slayer pouted. "I think I'm being *real*. This... isn't something that we can just... will to go away, you know? I can't even look him in the eye without remembering... how hurt he was. How angry. Angel has enough pain without me purposefully adding more."

"Mmhm," Emma concurred.

"And he's old-fashioned. He's never going to be able to forget that I was with someone else. *Two* someone else's. It'll drive him crazy."

"Mm."

"We can't move past this. There's just no way to fix it."

"Too bad," the gypsy remarked. "It seems to me that you cannot be held responsible for acts you committed while under the influence of magick that effectively separated you from that which makes you truly human."

"Of course I can!" Buffy barked, "I was *totally* aware of what I was doing! I made the *choice* to do what I did! It was *my* body. *My* brain. I *wanted* to sleep with Frost. I *wanted* to hurt Angel. And I *liked* it!"

"*You* did? Then, I wonder... why are you so distraught now?"

"Because, I..." her voice dropped to a tear-stained whisper. "I hate myself for what he must have gone through. What he's going through now."

Emma looked at her friend once more. "Your conscience bothers you."

"Yeah, it bothers me," Buffy admitted.

"Much like your Angel's must trouble him, I imagine," the old woman went on, as though she were thinking aloud. "And he has centuries of horrors that he feels responsible for. I'm certain you remember the things he did to you."

"Of course I do," the Slayer replied, "How could I forget?"

"And yet... you remain by his side. That's very gracious of you, considering the pain your lover must have caused you. Why be so forgiving, I wonder?"

The blonde rolled her eyes. "Because it wasn't him. It was the demon."

Emma nodded. "So... you do not think that your mate would visit such horrors upon you in the normal course of your lives together?"

Buffy gaped at her in incredulous shock. "Of course not! Angel's good and kind and loving. It's the demon who's a psycho."

"Oh," the gypsy said, as if she had just learned something new, "You don't hold him to task for the deeds of his demon? Are they... separate creatures, then?"

"No," the younger woman replied, like her friend had suddenly gone completely dense. "Not *separate*, exactly. But when he has his..." The point of the lecture finally dawned on her. "Oh."

Emma finally revealed her sly smile. "Yes, 'oh' indeed. What is it that distinguishes man from monster, Buffy?"

She swallowed stiffly. "His soul," she mumbled.

"Mmhm. You forgive Angel for the things his body and mind did when he was soulless. Why do you think he would not grant you the same consideration? And more importantly -- why would you withhold it from yourself?"

Buffy sighed. "I don't know. I just... can't."

"You say you cannot look your beloved in the eye, and yet... does he not look *you* in the eye every day? Hasn't he learned to open himself to you completely, and accept your forgiveness? Accept your love for him, despite his guilt?"

With a pout, the younger woman relented, "I guess."

The old gypsy patted her on the knee. "Then I do not think that things are as hopeless as you assume. Again, though... it is not me with whom you should discuss these things. It is the one who knows you best. Who understands exactly what it is to feel what you are feeling now. Multiplied tenfold. Talk to Angel, Buffy. Seek him out and let him help you understand... and heal."

Buffy peeked up at her with an expression of pure agony. "I'm scared. What if... what if he *can't* forgive me? What if he really does hate me?"

Emma gently brushed her friend's cheek. "You will never know until you ask. I think I've come to know both of you fairly well. Your love is strong -- stronger than even death, I think. Give yourselves a chance. Go find him."

"That won't be necessary," Angel uttered softly, stepping from the shadows and moving toward the two women.

Buffy glanced up in shock, and then quickly back at the floor. Old Emma got up and gave Angel a fierce hug.

"I believe that I was in your seat," she declared, and then touched the vampire through the link. 'Be gentle with her. She is in a great deal of pain.'

Angel gave the gypsy a grateful smile. 'I know. I will.'

The old woman patted him amicably on the shoulder. "I'm going to lie down for a bit. This has been far too much excitement for an old woman like me," she chuckled, and shambled off.

He stood where he was for a moment, uncertain quite how to proceed. Buffy's end of the link was not only barricaded, now, but pushed back at him in a defensive panic.

"How... how much did you hear?" she whispered, still unable to bring herself to look at him. But she found, to her intense shame, that his physical presence and his soft caresses through the link still made her feel better, just like they always did. She didn't want them to... she didn't deserve to have his comfort... his love. Why didn't he just go away and leave her alone???

"Enough," he replied, and sat down beside her on the loveseat.

They sat in tense silence for a few moments before he spoke again.

"Emma's right, you know. There's nothing you could say or do that would make me leave you." He reached out and took her hand, drawing it into his lap. "Or stop loving you. Or hate you. Ever."

Buffy's breath hitched as she once again started to cry. Angel pulled her to him, and she didn't resist his comforting embrace as she dissolved into sobs in his strong arms.

"I tried to kill you!" she wailed, "And I was so cruel to you! How can you not hate me?"

He held her closer and rained soft kisses into her hair. "I love you, Buffy. I told you that in the Great Hall -- no matter what you do, there's no power in the universe that could ever make me hate you."

She pulled away, finally forcing herself to look into his eyes. It only made her want to cry harder to see the truth engraved there, in those familiar mahogany pools. "You can't tell me you don't care that I slept with somebody else. You can't."

He flinched, but held her gaze. "No, I can't. I won't lie and tell you that I'm not angry... and hurt... and really, really jealous." His tone softened as his own eyes welled up, and he reached out to brush her tear-dampened cheek with the back of his hand. "But I *can* tell you that I know it wasn't really you. And that... it hurt a lot worse when I thought I might never see you again. When you disappeared, and we didn't know what happened to you, at first..." He looked away with a pained sigh. "I didn't know how I'd go on. Anything is better than that. And besides... I'm not without some blame in all of this. It was the way I handled Darla that set things in motion in the first place."

Buffy laughed bitterly through her tears -- the sound a tormented choking noise.. He always did manage to take responsibility for everything that happened between them... at least, the bad stuff. "Oh, yeah, gee, you *kissed* somebody. Somebody who you spent a century and a half of your life with. That's *definitely* worse than me jumping Frost *and* Lindsey, two perfect strangers. Perfectly *evil* strangers, and..."

Angel's gaze flew back to hers. "What? You slept with *Lindsey*? *Wolfram and Hart* Lindsey?" he yelped, horrified.

She blinked at him for a moment, taken aback by his uncharacteristic outburst. But it was just one more stab of pain in an ocean full of them that she was drowning in, and that final drop was the one that broke her. She burst into tears once more, grabbing Angel in a crushing, desperate embrace.

"I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" she chanted, "Angel, please forgive me! I'll do anything! I'll leave, if you want. Please! Just tell me you don't hate me!"

He took a deep breath as he held her, chastising himself for his involuntarily harsh reaction. "Ionuin... I'm sorry. It doesn't matter. I love you with all my heart. You could have slept with everyone in the compound, and I wouldn't care."

She pulled away and gave him a look.

"Okay," he admitted with a pained smirk. "So that would probably have been a *little* disconcerting." He grew serious once more, gently pushing against the link. Buffy resisted for a moment, but then let off on the block, so he could ease in just below the surface.

'Listen to me in here, anail a m'anam... You *are* my heart and soul. You are my *life*. I know that wasn't you who did those things. God... I know that better than anyone. Right now, this is still raw for you... still difficult to understand. But you *have* to believe it. This... this connection between us, that lets us speak to one another's spirit? This is where our love originate. Without our souls, the rest is just flesh and blood. Do you remember what your soul said to mine in the Dreaming? About the rest being nothing more than shell?'

'Sort of...' she whispered, 'Or at least... my soul does, I think. Angel... you know I love you. Only you. I never wanted anyone or anything else, not really. Even when I was... the way I was, in the end I knew I still loved you. I couldn't kill you... couldn't even try until... he... cast that spell on me.'

He smiled tenderly at her. 'I know. I remember what that felt like, too.'

Her momentary calm washed away... his patience and forgiveness only sharpening her own guilt. "I want to die for hurting you!" she sobbed.

Angel shook his head, claiming her tear-stained face between his hands, and peered fiercely into her eyes. "Don't say that. Don't *ever* say that. I'd rather have you destroy me than think about living without you. If you died... there'd be nothing left for me."

Her bottom lip trembled as she touched his beloved face in return. "That's not true. You have *a lot* to live for. So much to do. The world needs you."

He caught a stray tear on his fingertip and wiped it away. "Without you, it means nothing."

Buffy moved closer to him, suddenly aching to be closer physically, as well as through their bond. "Please... forgive me?"

"Anything. Always," he murmured, leaning toward her, "Can you forgive me? For mishandling things the way I did? For violating your trust?"

She replied with a kiss, sighing into the Heaven of his lips, and let his love and forgiveness pour into her, even as she let hers flow into him, and they soothed all the raw, wounded places in one another's heart and soul.

It wouldn't be easy. She knew that a lot of work... a *lot* of pain... still lay ahead for them. But for the first time since Darla had reappeared in their lives, she *knew* that they would make it. And she would spend the rest of her life showing Angel what he meant to her.

He felt her thoughts breaking free and rushing into him in a torrent... guilt and sorrow over the things she'd done, a familiar sharp-edged blade tipping the profound relief that overwhelmed her. There was work to do... healing to accomplish. But for now, all he cared about was mending their bond... proving to her that in the end, there was nothing that could really come between them. Nothing he wouldn't bear to be with her... to make her happy... to show her how much he adored her.

He swept her into his arms and stood, carrying her into the back stairwell and upstairs without ever once losing contact with her sweet lips. He could already taste the difference between what she really was, and what she had been back at the compound as he brought her into their suite, kicking the bedroom door shut behind him and setting her down on her feet beside the bed.

As he sifted his fingers through her hair, re-memorized the silken texture of her skin beneath his fingertips, he opened his soul's well of memory and let the entirety of its story course between them. He let her feel the hopelessness that had been his only companion for a century pour out, up until the first moment he saw her. How just that simple vision of a young girl forever changed by the tides of Destiny had changed him so profoundly. The joy and love and light of hope that her presence in his life had given birth to inside him, and nurtured... and how, whatever pain they had faced, that miracle had only grown in his heart since that day.

Buffy continued to cry softly as he undressed her with a gentleness that broke her heart all over again, and in return, remembered for him... how lost she had felt when he left her... how angry and alone she had become, until the moment when she materialized in his old office, and he had come running up the stairs, half-dressed and dripping wet. How within that sight -- before they had touched, or spoken a single word to one another -- she had been reborn... like just seeing his beautiful face was a gentle rain after a million years of drought. How the first time they made love again, and all the days that followed, had brought her back to life when she had been so certain that she would be dead and empty forever.

As their souls spoke to one another, Angel eased her naked form down on the bed, and held his own body still above her, looking deeply into her eyes.

"You're mine," he whispered, replaying the angry moment of their confrontation in the compound, but with the true feelings he held for her in his heart.

"Yes. I am," she whispered in return, and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him to her for a long, gentle, hungry kiss.

"Forever," he whispered into her lips.

"Always," she replied.

He caressed her gently with hands and lips, willing her to absolve herself, the way she had always exonerated him. And as he slipped tenderly into the welcoming cradle of her warm body, he felt his own tears return. They rocked together, all the things they had ever been to one another crashing through them -- best friends and bitter enemies, lovers and soulmates, fellow soldiers and unshakable allies. How, souls or no, they were bound to one another irrevocably, indomitably, one heart, one blood, one Destiny.

Angel gave a long, shuddering sigh as it all poured through him, wiping him clean of pain and doubt, and he raised himself up to look into her eyes once more.

"I love you," he breathed, "Your soul and mine, until time ceases to be."

Buffy closed her eyes and arched her head back as his words sparked the magick that bound them. When she was able, she looked into his once more, moving her hips to draw him deeper inside her.

"I love you. Your soul and mine, until time ceases to be," she moaned in reply.

The second time, they pledged it in unison, the soft, breathless words echoing like gentle thunder through the room.

"I love you. Your soul and mine, until time ceases to be."

"Buffy..." Angel gasped, his eyes rolling back as both the spell and their mutual bliss roared through him.

"Yes... my Angel..." she sighed.

The final time they spoke the vows, he allowed his face to morph, and shuddered when Buffy's gentle fingers traced his demonic features as they called out together,

"I love you. Your soul and mine, until time ceases to be."

He bent down to her throat... tenderly laved at the pulsing artery, then kissed it, and finally, eased his fangs into her willing flesh.

Buffy cried out and thrust against him, tearing her own blunt teeth into the vulnerable base of his neck.

The air cracked, exploding with power as the lovers drank one another, and their passion swelled to new, unimaginable heights. The pace of their joining grew faster, more frantic, every part of their beings burning together, merging, melting to one eternal bliss, and their souls expanded with the perfect ecstasy of it, reaching out far beyond the boundaries of their bodies, dispersing like a mist into the universe which they had been created and brought together to protect.

Angel pulled away from her throat, throwing his head back as the bliss of completion and the alchemy of their combined essences completely consumed him.

"GOD, BUFFY!"

"ANGEL! I LOVE YOU!"

And they erupted together, shooting into the nothingness of everything, clinging to one another, sobbing and laughing in their joy, until the spell and their orgasm finally ebbed, and their physical forms pulled back together, returning them to normal time and space once again.

He panted softly, his chest and neck and throat and... honestly, every inch of him, throbbing with weariness. He couldn't remember ever being so completely exhausted... and fulfilled... before. His lover pulled him down and cradled him against her breast, and he nuzzled into her, overwhelmed by his emotions.

"Ni dheanfaidh me e sin go deo scaoileadh le rud tusa aris. Faic tar go deo choiche! Deo aris!" he cried softly, wrapping his arms so tightly around her, she thought that he might crush her... and didn't care.

"I know," she sniffled, squeezing him with what little strength she still possessed. "And I'm never going anywhere. I promise."

Finally, they slipped into exhausted, but sated sleep, comforted once more by the other's embrace and the strength of their renewed bond. When they woke a few hours later, they made leisurely love once again, and afterward, Buffy nestled contentedly against Angel's damp chest.

"Just for the record, I think I've been thoroughly reclaimed," she informed him with a sleepy smile.

Angel chuckled and pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head. "I hope so, because I don't think I'm going to be doing much more in the way of reclaiming tonight." He held her quietly for a few moments, then said softly, "Buffy... I think I've learned something really important from all of this."

She lifted her head up to give him a look. "It's not the best idea to let your vampire ex who's just regained her conscience come live in the hotel you share with your soulmate?"

He gave her a mock glare as he sat up, pulling her with him. "No. Or at least... not *just* that. Something more... personal."

Buffy reluctantly shifted and sat up beside him. "Okay, I'll bite. What did you learn?"

"It's kind of hard to put into words." He settled back against the headboard, folding his arms behind his head. "When we first arrived in court, and I saw for certain what had happened to you -- the way you behaved... the things you said... And later, when you came to my room, and again when we were fighting in the Great Hall, it dawned on me." Looking her squarely in the eye, he took her hand. "I was standing in your shoes. When I was soulless, and it was you facing me. There you were, still looking like you... sounding like you... smelling like you. The way you moved was the same, and yet... there was nothing in your eyes. It hurt so much to see you like that. And knowing that you had been with Frost... hearing the venom in your voice, it hit me. I was shocked and hurt... angry about what had happened to you. But... not *with* you. I didn't blame you for any of it. There was nothing to be forgiven, because that wasn't fully you. Hearing what Emma said when the two of you were talking just... made all of the pieces fall into place in a way that they never had before. All of a sudden, I had an idea of how those months must have felt for you... and last year..."

Buffy frowned, still not quite comprehending. "Uh huh..."

Angel chuckled and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him once more. "I told you it was hard to explain. What I'm saying is, in a way, you and I had switched places. You were soulless, and I was the recipient of all that meant. And for the first time, I *knew* -- really *believed* -- that you forgave me for what I did when I was soulless, because I forgave you without hesitation. I've always thought that... I wasn't worthy of you, because the things I've done are inexcusable, no matter what you said to the contrary. I put all of that behind me for the sake of the life we're trying to build now, but... I'd never really let it go until that moment."

She drew back once more and smiled at him. "And now?"

His eyes roamed slowly, lovingly, over her face. "Now... I see you punishing yourself, and more than anything, I don't want you to do that. That feeling sheds a whole new light on my own struggle to define myself. To forgive *myself*... because ultimately, that's where my salvation lies."

"Wow," Buffy reflected softly, "That's... pretty incredible. So you think... maybe now you can? Forgive yourself, I mean?"

He caught the thin tone of hope in her words, and realized that she was asking as much for herself as for him. He gently brushed a kiss to her lips. "Maybe not all at once, but... I know for certain that I'm forgivable. Redeemable. Because of you. My absolution... my life... everything. All because of you."

Buffy blinked back new tears. "I never... thought I was that important."

Angel frowned. "Buffy. You're the most important thing in the universe to me, don't you know that by now?"

She nodded and shrugged at once. "I do. I mean... I believe that you forgive me. And I can't tell you how happy it makes me that you're finally learning what I've known about you all along. I just..." she trailed off, glancing away.

He crooked his fingertip under her chin and urged her gaze up again. "You have to let it go, Ionuin. It's not easy, but that's what we both have to do. Beating ourselves up over a past that can't be changed just wastes a lot of time in the present that we could spend being happy... together. Please... let it go."

"Will... will you help me?" she asked in a hurt-little-girl whisper.

He gave her an adoring smile. "We'll help each other, how about that?"

Buffy's response was a deep, gentle kiss. When she pulled away once more, she flashed a mock-glare. "About that whole Darla thing..."

Angel moaned and covered his eyes, then reached out to yank her back into his arms. "Tomorrow, okay? Let's just... forget it all tonight. Please. Tonight I want it to be just you and me. The way it should be."

And in a moment, his kisses washed away every other thought in Buffy's mind but exactly that.

Just the two of them. The way it should be.


	29. Reclamation

Buffy woke, strangely enough, with the first light of dawn. After days -- no, really, it was *weeks*, now -- of not resting well, and after she and Angel have had made love to one another over and over again through the night, she had finally fallen into exhausted, sated rest, cradled in the arms of everything that had been missing inside of her since even before she lost her soul, and thought that certainly, she would sleep forever.

She opened her eyes, and saw the pale rose of sunrise leaking through the edges of the heavy curtains that protected her mate from the deadly rays, and wondered why he hadn't been more careful in making sure they were closed all the way.

It didn't matter, though. That single shaft of light fell only on the carpet on her side of the bed.

She lay still in his arms, his broad chest spooned tightly against her back, as if his body couldn't stand to be even a few inches away from hers. And really, she felt the same. Lying there in the almost perfect darkness, cut only by that single, thin line of sunshine... his stillness against her as she watched that strand of dawn slide across the floor was just right, and she didn't ever want to move again and break this peace. He must have been exhausted, as that was the only time his body forgot its usual habit of breath. That repose was exactly what she needed right this moment. Not to see him or hear him, even, but just *feel* him surrounding her, protecting her, shoring up her crumbling walls as she filled with her Self again.

It was enough just to know that he was there. quiet and solid the way he'd always been, and that this Hell they'd survived ((yet again)) hadn't driven him away.

But after a while, though, touch wasn't enough. There was still so much of her that was bruised and empty, and she needed more of him to help her mend. Buffy turned slowly, careful not to dislodge his possessive embrace, and looked into his sweetly sleeping face. His lips were turned up slightly in a dream smile, his thick lashes falling on his high, proud cheekbones. She had to smile to herself just to see him. how beautiful and familiar he was. Then she shed a tear for almost losing him. again.

She wondered though, as she lay there exploring his features with hungry eyes, *had* she ever *really* come close to losing him? All the horrors they had survived together drifted through her memory. Nothing had been able to separate them. Not time, not physical distance or weak attempts at making lives without one another. Not monsters, not the loss of both their souls, not resurrected Sires, not even Hell had been able to keep them from each other. and she suspected that Emma was right: ultimately, not even death would pull them apart.

They called their relationship a soulbond. That was supposed to be where this link that tied them together came from. But now she knew that it was that. but so much more, besides. The love she shared with Angel couldn't be contained simply in one or another part of them, as if their minds and hearts, bodies and souls were boxes they carried around, and what they felt for each other was only kept in one or another of those compartments.

No. they had something that went beyond those abstract divisions. something that transcended all their many parts, and even their individual bodies. They were one and the same, two halves of a single whole, and all that other poetic stuff that basically tried. and failed. to describe what they were. They defied words.

Even without a soul, she loved him. Her skin loved him. Her blood, her hands, her eyes, her lips, her feet, and all the inches in between were tied to this beautiful vampire who held her so tightly in his arms. She had thought somehow that without her immortal essence, without her conscience, that what remained of her would stop wanting him. Stop needing him. She thought she could shed him like an outfit and be free of his influence forever. She thought she could be happy with another lover, another life. That she could reclaim all the freedom and joy she had always thought her Calling stole from her - the Calling that Angel himself stood as such a poignant symbol of.

But she was wrong. And now her heart sobbed, her skin crawled, and her soul wept senselessly for all the pain she'd caused him, even as the rapture of being near him and part of him once more washed through her.

Irony. Paradox. She and Angel had always stood on opposite sides of every "this vs. that" scale imaginable, and smashed those scales to bits with an affection, need, and desire that existed in spite of all the barriers thrown up against them: centuries. species. intrinsic natures. cruel twists of Fate.

Or the barriers that they erected between themselves.

Buffy leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss to his beloved lips, and rejoiced in the way his little smile spread, and he automatically pulled her closer.

They still had issues. They still had a long, rocky road ahead of them, and she figured there would be more arguments and misunderstandings. near-losses and tears before they were through.

But really - wasn't making it beyond all of that what made them so strong in the first place? She wouldn't go so far as to say it was "all good", but.

Close enough.

Finally, her empty stomach interrupted her adoring reverie, and she decided breakfast in bed might be a nice way to start off the day. Gently prying herself loose from Angel's arms, she put on her robe and made her way down to the kitchen, humming happily. It was definitely an International Coffees sort of morning. Maybe bacon, eggs with cheese, and wheat toast with jam. his favorites. Besides steak and eggs benedict, which she didn't have the first *clue* how to make.

But when she reached the kitchen doorway, she stopped dead, and every fine hair on her body stood straight up as her womb cramped tight and all her alarms - both human woman and Slayer - started screaming at once. She scowled.

"Don't tell me you're going to turn into the wacky neighbor who comes over every five minutes for fridge-raiding and witty commentary."

Darla stood, holding a bag of blood in her hand. She gave the Slayer a smirk. "I came by on an errand, and I was hungry. I assure you, it won't become a habit.

Buffy couldn't seem to do anything to stop the rage that took her over, but she chose just to let it go in favor of moving to the counter and starting the coffee maker.

.//Caffeine first, vampire-slut ass-kicking later.//

"You're the Queen of the Damned now, can't you get your own O-Pos?" she snarked.

The vampire didn't bother to respond, but instead put the bloodbag in a saucepan she had simmering on the rangetop.

"You know, the microwave would be a lot faster. And I hear all those rumors about radiation poisoning are just a bunch of 'neo-luddite hysterical crap'. or so Angel says," Buffy quipped.

Darla turned to face her fully. It was the first time that Buffy had ever been this close to her without being blinded by rage, and noticed how close they were in build and coloring.

.//Guess Angel doesn't stray far from type.// she thought bitterly.

"Look, *Buffy*. Don't assume that just because we've called a truce of sorts, that we will somehow 'overcome our differences' and become friends," she said with a sarcastic sneer, "I am *not* Angelus. I have no care to 'mend our fences'. You are my natural enemy, and as far as I am concerned, you stole my mate. We will never be more than reluctant allies. and that only because it is my Childe's wish that we work together. So please. save your witty banter for someone who finds you even remotely charming."

Buffy cocked an eyebrow at the vampire. "Gee, Darla, don't beat around the bush. Why don't you tell me how you *really* feel?"

Her lover's Sire took a menacing step closer. "I'll tell you how I really feel. I despise you. I think you are a lowbrow, simple-minded, disrespectful, banal little wench, and I find your deviant relationship with my Childe *repugnant*. If I had my way, and if Angelus was any sort of mate at all, you'd be sent packing to a *convent* , where you might learn manners befitting the consort of a Master vampire. Or, better yet, I would take him from here and make him *my* consort, to rule over our race by my side, where he belongs."

The Slayer got directly in her face. "Just for the record? I was being sarcastic. Personally, I couldn't care *less* how you feel, Darla. Angel and I belong together, no matter how 'repugnant' you think it is. He chooses to be with *me*, *not* you. We have a job to do *together*, and your vampire politics are nothing more than a *side gig* for him. So diss me all you want. He's not going anywhere. And neither am I. Oh. and one last thing."

At that, Buffy hauled off and smacked Darla across the face, leaving an angry red handprint on her fair skin, and utter shock marking her doll-like features.

"That's for taking advantage of him when he was vulnerable, and for almost betraying him in Court."

Darla blinked, open-mouthed, for a moment, but then reached out and slapped Buffy back.

"That's for stealing my mate, you little witch!" the vampire spat.

The two blondes stared at one another, the threat of deadly violence bubbling almost palpably in the air.

"Well. It's nice to see you two are getting along," Angel quipped.

The rivals spun to glare at where he stood, leaning casually in the doorway, wearing a wry smile.

"Although. I suppose it could be worse," he added. "There could be scratching and hair-pulling."

Buffy scowled at him. "Ha ha."

"We were just talking about you," Darla drawled, removing the blood from the saucepan and turning off the heat.

He stepped fully into the kitchen, headed for the coffee machine, stopping to give Buffy a lingering kiss as he passed. His Sire rolled her eyes at the display.

"So I saw. Good morning, Darla," he said lightly as he poured Buffy a cup of coffee, loaded it with sugar, then poured himself a cup, and leaned against the counter to drink it. "Is there something you needed?"

The vampiress frowned at him for a moment, then motioned toward a small pile of books and rolled parchments she had left on the table. "I brought the translation notes from the Beldisian Annals. I thought perhaps you'd want to familiarize yourself with the magicks before we reconvene the Court."

Buffy's angry gaze ticked to the books and then to her lover. "WHAT? You're going *back* there? You're kidding, right?"

He shook his head. "I agreed to help Darla pull the souled members of the Council together."

The Slayer took a step toward him. "WHY? After what we just went through because of her, why would you want to go back there at all?" She glared at the female vampire. "We should just let her rot. And all the rest of them, too."

Angel set down his mug, and took his mate's free hand. "Buffy. if we can keep the Sanguinati together, they'll be powerful allies in what we're facing. The prophecies all say that vampires will be victorious with the right leader - who we are fairly certain is me. So. we'll take control of the Court, and turn the Luciestat prophecies in our favor."

Buffy fairly shook with frustration. "Oh, no," she barked, snatching her hand away and waving at Darla, "You nearly went nuts just trying to keep a handle on *her*! Now you want to adopt two *hundred* of them? No. Uh uh. No WAY!"

"Now, now, Buffy, dear," Darla interrupted. "However you might feel about me personally, Angel is right. There's really no other choice in the matter."

"We could just *dust* you all," Buffy snarled at her.

The vampiress snorted and shook her head. "Your age is showing, little girl."

"Not as badly as *yours* is," Buffy bit back.

"Okay, that's enough," Angel interjected, stepping between them. "Darla, why don't you go? I'll speak to you tomorrow." He turned to give his lover a gentle look. "Buffy and I have some things we need to attend to privately."

"Fine," the new Prelate relented, purposefully bumping the Slayer as she brushed past. "I have far more important things to do than stand here and argue with an immature, selfish child."

"HAG!" Buffy barked, trying to go after her, but Angel held her back.

Darla gave the girl a sneer as she swept from the room.

Once the front door slammed, Angel took Buffy by the arm and plopped her down onto one of the island barstools. He grabbed their coffees, set hers in front of her, and then sat with his own.

"Okay. You're angry with me, not Darla. So let's talk about it," he suggested gently.

Buffy scowled darkly. "Oh, I'm pretty sure I *hate* Darla. But. yeah. I guess maybe I am still mad. A little," she admitted reluctantly. After all, did she have any right to be angry with Angel at all after what *she* had done?

"Of course you do," he replied, catching her thoughts. "Buffy. this isn't a matter of who did worse to whom. You're angry with me for kissing Darla, and that's perfectly valid, no matter what happened after."

"No it's not," she sighed, "I think we're *way* more than even."

Angel closed his eyes for a moment, then leaned toward her, taking both her small hands in his much larger ones. "We talked about this last night You have every right to be angry with me for the way I handled things. I had my soul, and theoretically, all of my faculties intact when I kissed her. It was my poor judgement that put us in that position, and I take full responsibility for my thoughtlessness. You *didn't* have all your faculties when you." he paused, unable to say the words. "Did what you did. I owe you an apology, and an explanation, if you'll accept them."

For a moment, Buffy couldn't even look at him. "You don't owe me anything," she whispered, "You were confused and upset, and she took advantage of that. While *I* just decided the world owed me something, so I spit in the face of every thing you and I have been through together and jumped into the first bed I came to with a guy. or. a vampire, I guess...in it. I don't think that's exactly a fair trade."

He frowned. "That wasn't *you*," he insisted.

"It *was* me! *I* felt it! *I* made the decision - the *conscious* decision - to do it. I *liked* it! Did you *like* kissing Darla?"

Angel pounded his fist on the table, making her jump. "Damn it, Buffy! Please! Stop this! It wasn't *you*, any more than it was *me* who murdered thousands of innocent people in cold blood! Honey." he reclaimed her hands once more and looked deeply into her eyes, "I don't *care* what your body did. I'm just glad that you're *safe* and *whole* again. What happened never would have happened in the first place if I hadn't let Darla throw me off track. So if anyone owes an apology, it's *me*. And I am *so* sorry. I love you. You're the only woman I've ever loved. Without you, I would have *nothing*. The fact that we survived this only proves to me that there isn't a power in the cosmos that can keep us apart. It kills me to see you hurting like this."

"Me?" She laughed bitterly, "*I'm* hurting? Angel. all you did was *kiss* her! There was nothing you could have done differently. You did the best you could."

"I could have done everything differently," he murmured, shaking his head. "I could have listened to you. I could have trusted you more. I could have kept my eyes open when it came to her."

"And I could have kept my hands to myself and waited for you to come rescue me! I didn't have to go whole hog slut the minute I didn't have a superego keeping me in line. I *knew* better, and I did it anyway!"

"So did I."

They stared at one another for a few moments, until Buffy sighed. "Okay, so. the self-blame thing is getting us nowhere, obviously."

"Obviously," her mate concurred. "But we can't just let these things go, either. If we do, it'll drive us both crazy."

Buffy nodded. "True. Hey - why don't we just do one of those counseling exercises. just. talk about how we feel without interruptions. No apologies, no commentary. Just listening."

Angel took a deep breath. "Okay."

"Okay. Good."

Neither of them said anything.

"Wow. This communication thing is fun," Buffy chuckled, "And way easier than I thought."

He smiled. "You start."

She looked down at their entwined hands. his, large and pale, surrounding her tiny tanned ones, and tried to sort through all the painful memories of the past month, recalling how she felt when she found Angel and Darla kissing. It turned out not to be very hard. The minute she let them, every moment of that nightmare came crashing down on her.

"When she first came. I was scared. Not that she was a spy or something, but." she forced her eyes to meet his, and let the link slide open, so that her emotions poured forth to illustrate what she was saying. And better yet, she could feel his gentle encouragement - his willingness to listen; the fact that he *cared* about what she still thought was a stupid, petty complaint.

And how he didn't think it was petty or stupid at all.

"Remember how I thought. that I could never compete with her? I mean. she's your *Sire*. That's something I don't think I could ever even begin to understand. The two of you were attached at the. well, the everything, for a *hundred and fifty years*. Angel, I can't even imagine that much time, let alone picture what it's like to spend it with one person. Darla is so much a part of you, and. I was afraid that. she was too much of you to leave any for me."

A pang of pain from his heart struck hers, and Angel frowned, but he remained silent, waiting patiently for her to go on.

"You promised me that wasn't true. You swore that you *chose* me, and that meant more to you than anything. I believed you. Then everything turned into this, like, twisted soap opera roller coaster ride, and every time we reached a fork in the track. you kept choosing her. It was like you were lying to me, over and over again. I couldn't stand that. Anything but that. So that's when I decided to leave. I couldn't stay and watch you pull further and further away from me. But then Faith said." she chuckled softly, "Actually, she called Darla a lot of synonyms for slut, and said that I should kick your ass back into line, because you and I belong together. And I knew she was right. I mean - our *souls* are bound together. Literally. And since yours is so central to who you are, I just. I realized that even if Darla made you, she made what you *were*. *I* helped you become what you *are*."

She trailed off for a moment as she remembered how she'd felt that night when she'd gone charging downstairs to Darla's room, filled with righteous fury and determination to keep what she had fought so hard to get - Angel himself. How she had been ready to kick the bitch out on her dainty undead ass, and kick Angel's besides, if that was what it took to unscramble his stupid head.

But when she got there, and saw them in the doorway.

"The whole world just. exploded. I saw you kissing her, and it was like. living proof of all my worst fears. She was older and smarter and prettier and so much more important to you. I thought that was it. The end. You were going back where you came from, and I was just a blip in your eternity." She looked into his eyes again, feeling his shame and denial of what she was thinking rush through the link. "I wanted to die. I wanted to crawl into a hole and just disappear. It was worse than when you left me, because it was like. you didn't even care about everything we've gone through since we got back together. So I ran off and. the rest is history."

Angel held both of her hands tightly and returned her deep gaze. Somehow, even the hurt he could see in the muted green of her eyes was beautiful now, despite the way it broke his heart. It was painful warmth. but it was *soulful* warmth. it was *something*. it was Buffy.

"Why did you do it? I mean. why did you kiss her?" she asked softly.

He looked down at the table, and thought about that. "I'm not sure. She said she was leaving, then she kissed me. It wasn't. premeditated at all. I guess I just." he considered for a moment. "It happened so fast, it's hard to remember what I was feeling. It was like. you know how time softens your memories? Makes the worst things fade, and the best things seem better than they were?"

Buffy nodded.

"It was like that. For all of the fact that I don't believe I ever loved her. it was like you said - she was an enormous part of me. Of my life. of parts I don't care much for, granted, but. I think having a soul cast a gentler light on what we shared. I was scared for her. And she was scared - or so I thought. I guess all of that jjust. overwhelmed my sense. So when she. kissed me. I didn't stop her until it was too late."

The wounded look on his lover's face didn't ease, and Angel realized he would never be able to adequately explain what he had been feeling that night. The confusion of knowing that helping Darla was the right thing to do. but hating how it hurt Buffy and his friends. And there were no words to explain how he felt about his Sire herself. why he had let her that close to begin with. got lost in that old, familiar caress for a moment.

So he let the link flow freely, and invited Buffy inside. He closed his eyes and felt her enter those secret chambers of the demon, where he was usually so reluctant to let her explore. She flashed through the feral sensations of blood connection, which she had only barely experienced toward him when she was soulless. sensations of beasts tied together through stretches of human lifetimes and the thrill of the hunt. But how those animal instincts were tempered by the human blood that made up the demon's host skin. how there was affection and companionship - even tenderness- in their blood-soaked existence. How Darla had taught him everything he knew. refined him in every possible way, as both hunter and man. How she had shown him worlds beyond the wildest imagining of his small-town mind and his stunted self-image. How she had given him both the excitement and stability that he had so craved as a human. It had been a sort of bond. a kind of love. But it wasn't until he had regained his soul that he realized what he was truly missing. And only when he met her that he had learned how to fill that void.

"Now she has a soul," Buffy whispered as she eased out of his memory. "Things could have been so different between you then, if you'd both had souls."

He gave her a small, sad smile, and shook his head. "That's just it, Ionuin. Things could never have been different between Darla and I. Not if we'd met then as humans, or now that we do both have souls. It was the demons who were bound together. That are, still, at least in blood. For a while, I forgot that there was a difference. I let my concern for her well being get confused with the demon's instincts. She'll always be a part of me. And I do still carry a deep affection for her. But. I don't *love* her. I don't *want* her like that. And I don't belong to her or with her. All of those things are reserved for you alone. I made a stupid mistake -- a lot of them -- and I almost lost you because of that. I'm sorry."

Buffy breathed a huge sigh of relief. and felt its soft echo all the way down to her soul.

.//God, it feels good to think that.//

She smiled at her mate. "I think my soul knew that all along. Just. the rest of me needed to catch up."

Angel brushed the curve of her lip with a fingertip. "And now?"

"Now. I get it. At least, as much as a human can, I guess."

He nodded and gave a soft chuckle. "Fair enough."

"I accept your apology," she added, knowing that she needed to say it as much as he needed to hear it.

"Thank you," he murmured, and kissed her tenderly.

"So. you never answered my question," she whispered when they parted.

He cocked his head. "Question?"

"Yeah. Did you. like it? Kissing her?"

"I like kissing you more," he replied, and captured her lips once again.

She pulled away only enough to give him a mock scowl. "That's not an answer."

"It's my answer," he whispered, and ended the topic with another long, sweet caress of mouth on mouth.

Finally, Buffy came up for air, and fear thinned her voice as she said, "Your turn."

For a moment, Angel said nothing. He wasn't sure what she wanted him to say. He wasn' t angry with her. He didn't blame her at all for what happened. What was there to talk about?

"Tell me what you feel," she insisted.

"You can just look inside me and see what I feel. Saying it out loud is redundant," he argued.

His lover gave him a distinctly Slayer look. "You are *banned* from skulking, introspective, cryptic loner-guy behavior of any sort. Talk."

"Okay, okay," he relented. "Do you really want to know how I feel? Right this moment?"

She nodded.

"I love you more than anything, in this world or any other. I'm so glad that you're back beside me, I could sing it from the rooftops."

Buffy cocked an eyebrow at him.

"But I won't, I promise," he chuckled. "I feel stupid about the whole Darla fiasco, but at the same time, I think she has a real opportunity to do some good. To have a second chance to lead the kind of life she's never had before. So in that, at least, I can't be sorry for standing by her. It means a lot that I was able to make a real difference, however small, in someone's life. someone who came from more or less the same circumstances as myself. As for what happened after. I don't know if that can be put into words at all. Thinking I'd lost you because of my own stupidity. that was, by far, the most painful thing I've ever experienced."

She prodded gently against the link, encouraging him to share the pain that she knew he was hiding at the very bottom of its shadows. The hurt and anger that had driven him to treat her so savagely the night she'd gone to him in the compound. Pain that she could feel he had shoved away and refused to deal with, because he thought it was irrational.

'That too,' she whispered. 'It's okay. I'm ready to hear it. And you need to say it.'

He nodded slowly. "I know. It's just so. archaic. Chauvinistic on one hand, and demonic on the other. Neither parts of myself I'm particularly fond of. Or that you deserve to have to deal with."

Buffy shrugged. "Too bad. We *have* to deal, Angel. Remember - no leaving things to fester?"

A determined look fell over his features as he forced himself to speak honestly. "The plain truth? I *hate* the idea of someone else touching you. *Anyone* else. I was the first man you'd ever been with, and there was only one other before this, and I liked it that way. I liked feeling that you belonged to me, and only me, and I'm so jealous that you were with someone else, I almost wish I could bring Frost back so I can torture him slowly before I kill him again."

She couldn't help herself - she gestured to the books sitting on the table beside him. "You could."

He laughed. "No. I don't think so. He's better off in Hell, frankly. And Lindsey, well." His expression darkened, making her shiver. "He'll get his."

After a moment, he seemed to come back from wherever his dark thoughts had taken him, and with a sigh, Angel looked at her once more. "So, that's the truth. It tears me up inside to imagine another man touching you. And it makes me wonder - do I measure up? Was Frost better? He was four times my age - did he know tricks that I don't? Did he make you feel things I can't? Are you going to compare me to him now? And then. there 's the demon. who's completely insane and enraged and totally disgusted by the whole thing. It definitely thinks a violent, bloody reclaiming ritual is in order."

Buffy stared at him. "That's. really disturbing."

Angel shrugged. "You asked."

"So I did. Okay. I guess the question is. what now? How do we. get past all of this?"

"Time. That's the only thing that will make these wounds fade," he murmured softly, brushing her sleep-mussed hair behind her ear, then tracing the line of her fine jaw. "It's only one moment in our forever. It'll pass. I know you love *me*, and that's all I care about."

A smile bubbled from deep inside of her heart. "I do love you. And I know you love me. The rest is just. a bad dream."

He returned her infectious smile and leaned down to kiss her once more. Relief and love sparked between their lips like the magick they had conjured the night before, and they pulled apart with a chuckle, then gazed into one another's eyes for a long while.

"And in Life's noisiest hour, there whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee, the heart's Self-solace and soliloquy. You mould my Hopes, you fashion me within ; and to the leading Love-throb in the Heart through all my Being, through my pulses beat ; you lie in all my many Thoughts, like Light, like the fair light of Dawn, or summer Eve on rippling Stream, or cloud-reflecting Lake. And looking to the Heaven that bends above you, how often I bless the Lot that made me love you."

Breathless and teary-eyed after her lover's impassioned recitation, Buffy stared, trembling... stunned senseless by everything about him. Screw all those stupid cookie-cutter heroes in her romance novels - she had the real thing, right here.

"About that violent, bloody reclamation thing," she murmured, her voice rough with a touch of naughtiness she'd never really felt before.

A knowing smile crept across his lips. "I don't really think beating you into submission and drinking you nearly dry is a very appropriate way to show you that I love you."

With a playful shrug, she got up and offered him her hand. "So. we'll modify it a little bit."

He let her pull him from his seat and gave her a wolfish grin as she tugged him into a fierce, hot embrace. Their mouths once again merged, tongues tangling, hands rushing to pull off their.

"Ehem."

The lovers parted reluctantly to find Faith and Spike standing in the doorway, wearing matching grins.

Angel sighed and leaned his forehead against Buffy's. "Do I even want to know?" he moaned.

"Need to borrow some money, mate, and you owe me a favor. Me and the Slayer want to... take off for a couple days. Wind down a bit," Spike informed him.

"And naturally, you're a 'little short'," Angel grumbled.

"Not like you lot *pay* me to be your soul bag," the blond snarked in response.

Buffy chuckled, then dislodged herself from Angel's arms, turning to face her sister Slayer with a pang of guilt. She remembered with shame how she had taunted the younger woman... made fun of all the hard work she had done to put her life back on track.

"Faith, I..." she began as she moved toward her.

The brunette held up a hand. "Stop right there, B. If you apologize, I'll kick your ass, I swear. I don't need you to, okay? What happened happened, and it wasn't really you. Besides... I think this makes us closer to even." She cast an adoring gaze up at her vampire. "And a lot of good stuff came out of it." She caught herself. "I mean... the Gate thing and all."

The primary Slayer smiled, catching the slip. "Right. The Gate."

"Yeah," Spike agreed, "But if you really think you need to apologize, cash is fine. A couple hundred smackers should ease my pain."

Buffy smirked at him. "I'll get my wallet."

Before she could move, Angel grabbed her arm, and glared at his Childe. "What, exactly, do you need a couple of hundred dollars for?"

Spike glared right back at him. "None a' your business, Ru Paul. You owe me, and I'm collecting."

A low growl started in Angel's chest. "If you want us to give you money, you're *going* to tell us what it's *for*."

The younger vampire stepped up to him. "Why, heroin, whores and a coupla really big *guns*, what else?" he snarled. "Gotta have capital to go off on a 'Natural Born Killers'."

Faith sighed and rolled her eyes, then looked at Buffy once more. "We're going to Vegas for a few days."

Buffy cocked her head. "Vegas? Like... bright lights, showgirls, Sin City, gambling Vegas?"

"Yeah. And also... 24-hour wedding chapel Vegas," her sister said with both a blush and a grin.

"Aw, Christ, here we go," Spike moaned, backing out of Angel's swinging range and lighting up a cigarette.

"Damn it, Spike, I asked you not to smo...Did you say... *Wedding* Chapel?" the elder vampire yelped.

Faith kept grinning, toeing the linoleum sheepishly. Spike shrugged and kept right on smoking.

"You... you're getting... m-MARRIED?" Buffy exclaimed, "To SPIKE? You're *kidding*!"

"Hey!" Spike objected, "I'm a damn fine catch, I'll have you know!"

The brunette Slayer looked up, her face lit with a smile, and shrugged. "He really is."

"I need to sit down," Angel mumbled, and sat.

"That's... you... I can't *believe*..." Buffy spluttered, her gaze shooting back and forth between them. "*Married*? To *Spike*? I mean... he *asked* you?"

With a snarl, Spike grabbed Faith's left hand and held it up -- her ring finger was adorned with a surprisingly elegant antique silver band.

Buffy didn't even want to begin to imagine where he'd gotten it from.

"Yeah, I asked her. Got down on my knees and everything. I'm not an animal, you know. And she's a grown woman. She said yes, so save the bloody lecture. Are you gonna lend us the dosh or not?"

Angel still sat on the barstool, shaking his head and muttering, "I can't believe this. This is *insane*..."

Buffy couldn't help but smile, and swept the secondary Slayer up in a warm hug. "Of course we'll lend you guys the money!"

"You *will*?" Spike asked in shock.

"What? Are you *nuts*?" Angel yelped, "This is *Spike*! And *Faith*! You actually want to encourage this... abomination?"

Buffy titled her head coyly at him. "Funny, that's more or less what Darla said about us. Besides... it's not exactly the weirdest thing that's ever happened around here."

"Yes it is!" Angel, Spike, and Faith all said together.

Spike turned to his Sire with a serious expression. "Look, Angelus. I love her, okay? Why's it all right for you and Buffy to be tied at the what have you, and not us?"

"Because you're EVIL!" Angel bellowed, jumping to his feet, "And it's just... wrong!"

Spike chuckled. "Wow -- that's a solid argument. I'm convinced. Look, I'm not askin' for your *permission*, okay, wanker? And as far as evil goes, I didn't hear you saying too goddamn much about it when you used my *evil* arse to cart around your *soulmate*, now, did I?"

At that, Angel clamped his mouth shut and sank back down on his barstool.

"That's what I thought," his Childe snorted.

Buffy jogged quickly to the office and came back with her wallet, handing all the cash inside to Faith.

"I think you guys should do whatever makes you happy. And if that's becoming Mr. and Mrs. ... 'The Bloody', then... who am I to argue?"

Faith gave her a dazzling smile. "Thanks, B. And... he actually has a name, believe it or not. Fake ID for getting into clubs and stuff."

"I don't even want to know," Angel groaned.

"No, ya never bothered to ask before ya murdered me in cold blood, did ya, ya bastard?" Spike snarked, then gave Buffy a sweeping bow, "William Rutherford Ferguson the VIII, at your service... for a nominal fee."

"He thinks he might have titles," Faith added with a smirk, "Like a lower earlship or something."

"I'm in Hell," Angel muttered.

Buffy gave her lover a whack on the arm. "Okay, guys, go... nupt or whatever before some demon emergency... or Angel having an embolism... forces you to postpone."

The happy couple joined hands and tugged one another toward the kitchen door. Spike gave one last affectionate sneer over his shoulder as they went.

"Sorry I called you a whore, Slayer. Even though you were one."

"Thanks... I guess."

When they were gone, Buffy moved back over to Angel and eased onto his lap, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck.

"I think it's kind of sweet, in a psycho-ward, John-Carpenter-on-acid sort of way."

He gave her a look. "Sweet? Try *twisted*. Try *nauseating*. Try *against the very laws of nature*."

She winked at him. "You mean the 'very laws of nature' we blatantly violate at every possible opportunity?" She nipped at his ear, sending involuntary shudders down her lover's spine. "Forget them," she purred, "Weren't we talking about wild make-up sex before?"

With narrowed eyes, he glanced up at her. "No fair changing the subject."

Buffy slid her hand down his bare back, tickling under the waistline of his sweats. Angel closed his eyes and sighed, unable to resist her attentions, no matter how freaked out the whole Spike/Faith thing...

"Mmmm... that feels..."

"Good? You know... I think," Buffy murmured in his ear as her hand slipped into his pants to caress the hard muscles of his rear, "That changing the subject is *exactly* what we should be doing."

She climbed off his lap and urged him to his feet, quickly divesting him of the one article of clothing separating her from his skin, then undid her robe and let it drop to the floor, thus removing the one barrier between his touch and *her* skin.

She ran a hand languidly down the center of her body, pausing to caress one of her quickly hardening nipples with a fingertip, and smiled wickedly to see his body instantly respond.

"But... if you *really* want to talk about Faith and Spike," she purred playfully, bringing her other hand up to her neglected nipple, "I guess we can."

With a snarl, Angel lunged and grabbed her, sweeping her off the floor and planting her bare bottom on the counter with a little smack, then dropped to his knees before her and without preamble, parted her legs and plunged his face in between.

"I'lltakethatasaNO!" Buffy gasped, leaning back to brace her arms behind her as Angel took to devouring her with enthusiasm.

It wasn't violent, and it wasn't bloody, but it was reclamation, nonetheless. He proved that his fears of inadequacy (which she had really had to *fight* not to laugh at) were completely unfounded, and how well he knew her every inch and nerve ending, putting fingers and lips, tongue and teeth to well-practiced good use, bringing her rapidly to a series of brain-melting peaks. It was like he put the world on fast forward, and before she even stopped shrieking his name from her last orgasm, her lover was back on his feet, standing between her legs, claiming her hips firmly in his hands and pulling her onto him, sheathing himself to the root.

"OH... GOD... ANGEL... YES!" she shrieked, arching up to wrap her hands around his neck and pull him closer. Angel reached out, placing a hand firmly between her breasts and pushed her back again, bowing her away from him to give his mouth clear access to her flushed skin.

He took full advantage of it, consuming great, sucking mouthfuls of her, nipping hard, but not too hard, as he thrust deeply, fiercely into her. Taking a fistful of her hair, he tugged her head back, exposing her throat, but didn't change, only bit down on the scar at the base with blunt teeth.

She cried out harshly at the sensations... how he held her in place with his teeth on her neck and his hand in her hair and his cock pounding into her steadily, harder and faster, and...

No... no doubt about it. As far as she was concerned, she had never had another lover.

They finally exploded together, both howling with the intimate, animal bliss of a good, rollicking fuck between soulmates, and she rejoiced at feeling him spill within her once again.

Buffy was shaking so hard, she had to cling to him to keep herself upright. Angel chuckled and gently helped her down off the counter, where she stood, trembling and panting in his arms.

"I think that was a satisfactory modification, don't you?" he joked, pressing soft kisses to the top of her head as he pulled her closer.

"I... Oh, God. I... you..." she stammered.

"I'll take that as a yes," he grinned.

Buffy nodded, finally managing to catch her breath. "Okay. Just for the record? If you *ever* express any fear of inadequacy to me again, I will behead you with my bare hands, do you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he mock-saluted her. "So? Do you feel thoroughly chastised for your wanton behavior?"

"I don't know," she teased, licking one of his hard nipples and gazing up at him with lusty adoration. "I think maybe you should try punishing me again. Only... on your desk this time."

He swept her up into his arms and carried her out of the kitchen. "As my lady wishes."

"And after that, maybe the dryer?" she suggested.


	30. Come What May

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER NOTES: Be warned -- this chapter is so sugar sweet, it almost made ME gag. But, I figured, after all the darkness, we (and they *G*) deserved it. The song is Come What May, sung by Nicole Kidman and Ewan MacGregor, from the "Moulin Rouge" soundtrack.  
> TRANSLATIONS: Mo gra = "my love"

Buffy swung her and Angel's entwined hands as the four points of the fabled Paradox Gate walked down Vine St. on patrol. The night was warm and relatively quiet, not a single one of the rumored wave of flesh eating Robashk demons that Merl warned them about anywhere to be seen.

Which left the foursome nothing much to do but wander and chat. Or, rather, Buffy and Faith (now Mrs. T. Bloody) chatted, while Angel quietly enjoyed the night's peace, and Spike drank his Glenfidditch stuffed in a paper bag.

Buffy had to admit... the whole thing was sort of nice. They were almost any group of friends out for a evening stroll, and she could almost pretend that Armageddon wasn't right around the corner, and her companions and herself weren't, collectively, some portal to the secrets of the universe or something.

"You know, you would think that we could find a way to get rid of all this smog," she observed, "I mean... we can clone sheep, live in space, talk to people on the other side of the planet with phones no bigger than a matchbook, but we can't, like, build a giant fan or an exhaust system or something that would clean the air?"

"Or... do something radical like not *drive* everywhere? Actually use our *legs*?" Angel suggested.

Buffy shot him a look. "You probably want to go back to horses and buggies."

Faith chuckled. "And hey, there, Mr. Hypocrite Vampire Guy -- what about that tanker you call a car? What do you get, like, *two* miles to the gallon with that pig?"

"Hey!" he objected. "I got an excellent deal on that car. It's *solid* and *reliable*. World-saving missions require that sort of thing, you know."

"Talk about hypocrites," Spike chimed in, "I don't see you turning down a whole lot of rides in the DeSoto, sweetling." He gave his .//Jesus Christ, my bloody *wife*!// a look... then promptly downed the rest of his scotch.

"Hmph," Buffy snorted. "You guys just think you look all cool in your big, shiny, black macho-mobiles. Top down... wind in your hair... all the women gawking at you at stoplights..."

Angel tugged her closer to his side. "You're the only woman I want gawking at me."

"Speak for yourself," Spike grumbled, earning an elbow in the ribs from his .//Holy SHIT!// wife. "Ow! Watch it, Slayer!"

"Besides," the elder vampire went on, "I'm sorry, but... in our line of work, living where we live, we *need* a good, dependable car."

Buffy wrinkled her nose up at him. "So buy a Toyota."

Spike laughed out loud at the visual of his lunky sire driving a sub-compact. "Yeah, you could get a little pink rice burner. It'd suit ya."

"Shut up, Spike," he replied, then gave his lover a pout, "I like my car."

"Fine, then. Kill the planet, see if I care," she quipped. "I'm not the one who has to live forever."

He looked deeply into her eyes and brushed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Don't remind me," he whispered.

They walked along in thoughtful silence for a while, and Angel felt a small pang of guilt that he hadn't yet told Buffy what Giles and Wesley had discovered.

Human. The prophecies said that if he survived the wars, the Powers would reward him by restoring his mortality. The concept was so utterly foreign... a dream that he had long ago abandoned when he traded his chance to be human for his lover's life, that even these weeks later, he could barely wrap his mind around it.

And until he could, he didn't want to lay that on Buffy. Yes, it was a strong ray of hope for both of them -- that someday, they might share a truly normal life together -- something that might help to pull them through what would undoubtedly be dark days ahead. But she was still hurting from what happened when Frost stole her soul. She still begged his forgiveness almost daily, and went out of her way to spoil him at every turn, deferring to him in almost every decision. He was too concerned with getting her back to as normal as possible to add any more stressors -- even positive ones -- to her burden.

Besides, he wasn't sure if he really believed it anyway. False hope sometimes could be worse than no hope at all, in his experience.

The pace of their life had picked up to a dizzying degree over the past few weeks. The demon populations of both LA and Sunnydale continued to multiply, requiring more frequent trips back and forth, and more dangerous patrols. They were busy with the Gate Prophecies and trying to figure out what the Key might be, not to mention their bizarre duties with the vampires now under Darla's rule. Trying to keep several hundred formerly evil demons from going insane and destroying themselves was no easy task, and with the added tension of Buffy and Darla's continued virulent venom toward one another, having his beloved along was sometimes more trouble than help. Unfortunately, that meant she often stayed behind when he attended Court.

They had plenty on their plate, for now. He could tell her about Shanshu when things settled down a bit more... maybe another trip to Ireland...

He looked up, and realized they had reached his destination -- Caritas. "I need to drop in and talk to Lorne for a minute," he said, steering Buffy to the doorway.

"'Kay," she agreed, giving him a brief kiss. "Don't be long."

"You're not coming in, B?" Faith asked.

"Uh... how about no. I'm not really in the mood to have a bunch of demons glaring at me. Buffy the Vampire Slayer isn't exactly their favorite surprise guest star, you know?"

"Neither am I," Angel argued, "Or Faith... or Spike, either, for that matter." He gave his mate a nudge. "Come on. I promise, if anyone so much as looks at you funny, I'll rip their heads off."

"That's sweet," she grinned up at him, "And incredibly gross. But it's a sanctuary, remember? The Host would have *your* head if you started anything. I'll be fine out here."

"Yeah, come on Buff, you can buy me and Fangboy a celebratory wedding drink," Faith insisted.

Spike shook his empty bottle at her. "I need a refill."

"I'll buy you one of those disgusting raspberry-Mountain Dew-root beer things you love so much," Angel tempted.

She stared at each of her friends in turn, and finally sighed. "Fine," she relented, "But if I get my feelings hurt, you guys are gonna owe me a lot more than a soda."

Angel winked at her. "I think that can be arranged."

They hurried inside, and were surprised to find no bouncer at the metal detector, and that the room was dark.

"That's weird," Buffy observed, as Spike made a beeline for the abandoned bar, "I thought Greeney never closed..."

The lights snapped on, and a crowd of people leapt out from behind various pieces of furniture to yell, "SURPRISE!"

Buffy and Faith both gasped aloud as they took in the scene... all of their friends were there, and a big banner hung above the stage that said, "Congratulations!"

The blonde Slayer spun to Angel. "You guys threw me a party?"

"Not just you. Spike and Faith, as well," he said with a shrug, "Sort of a 'Happy wedding, glad you got your soul back' thing. I thought we could all use some fun."

With a happy squeal, Buffy jumped into his arms, smothering his face in kisses as their friends, led by Lorne, broke into a rousing rendition of "For They Are Jolly Good Fellows".

Angel squeezed his lover tightly and allowed himself a nice, hearty pat on the back.

"My idea too," Spike grumbled as he returned with a giant glass of whiskey.

Faith gave him a warm smile. "You just wanted the free booze."

He cocked an eyebrow at his .//Holy FUCK!// wife. "Yeah? So?"

~~~~~

There was something awe-inspiring about watching young (and some not-so-young) humans dance. Angel had always thought so... although at some points in his life, that had been a culinary appreciation. The added fact that he knew these particular young humans -- cared about them, and knew all of the struggle and pain they put aside to be so blissfully free -- only made it more so.

It still didn't make *him* want to join in, and it certainly didn't ease the pain cracking his skull wide open from the pounding dance music, though.

Thankfully, this time, he wasn't alone in that opinion. Giles had joined him at a corner table, as far away from the speakers as they could possibly get while still remaining in the club, the moment the music started. The two men matched one another whiskey for whiskey, and made several attempts to talk over the din, all of which failed miserably. So now they both sat and watched their families -- even Old Emma -- celebrating as if they had just saved the world.

Which, Angel imagined, they pretty much had.

Buffy was stunning... alive in a way that he didn't think he'd ever seen her before. Her happy smile lit the dim air of the bar, and the pure, joyous energy of her body's graceful, sensuous movement would have left him speechless even if a single word could be heard over the "music".

Doyle lurched off the dance floor to their table, reclaiming his drink and giving the two men a sloshy grin.

"Come on, you two old farts. Come celebrate with us."

Giles scowled. "I most assuredly will *not* celebrate the absolute *abomination* that is Faith's marriage to *Spike*."

"Amen," Angel agreed, and sucked down another shot, "He's not even *alive*. How can he get *married*?"

Doyle chuckled and plunked down in one of the empty chairs, motioning to the bartender for another round. "Dunno. But Elvis and the state of Nevada gave their okay, so... who am I to argue? I mean... the King, man!"

Angel and Giles rolled their eyes at one another.

The half-demon gave his vampire friend a friendly punch to the shoulder. "Come on out and dance, brother. It's good for the soul. And besides, the way things are looking right now, could be Ol' Wes is gonna steal all our women."

All three men glanced back at the dance floor, and Angel couldn't help but laugh at the picture there -- Wesley gyrating wildly, with Faith, Cordelia and Buffy dirty dancing around him.

"Somehow, I'm not that worried," he chuckled.

Buffy's eyes met his across the smoky room.

'No,' he stated in no uncertain terms through the link.

'Aw, come on, baby. You'd be so sexy, shaking that yummy groove thing you've got,' she purred.

'I *do not* have a "groove thing", and if I *did*, I certainly wouldn't "shake it" in public.'

His lover stepped away from Wesley to dance alone, running her hands languidly over her tight body, boring holes in him with bedroom eyes as she rode the rhythm of the music.

Angel's body responded instantly, and he quickly sucked down another drink to douse the growing fire in his blood. Buffy gave him a wicked grin that he felt straight down to his toes.

'Just for the record,' he told her, 'Watching you do that makes me want to do a lot of things, and none of them include loud music. Unless it's "Bolero".'

Her mirth sparkled through the link, managing to turn him on just that much more.

Maybe all that whiskey hadn't been such a good idea, because his head was suddenly full of lusty visions of snatching her up off the dance floor, carrying her into the shadows, and shoving her up against the wall...

Suddenly, the pounding dance tune cut off, eliciting a moan from the revelers, and a chorus of relieved sighs from Angel and Giles. Lorne took the stage and grinned down at his friends, holding up his trademark Seabreeze.

"Well, this is a rocking shindig, isn't it, kids?" he laughed. "First off, I'd like to congratulate our newlyweds... Faith, Spike -- Mazeltov, loves."

A weak smattering of applause filled the room as the vampire and Slayer gave one another a grin.

"And second, a toast to the soulmates. Another job well done, my Buffina and Angelino."

The acclaim this time was far more enthusiastic, and accompanied by shrill whistles and heartfelt catcalls.

Angel glanced away sheepishly. "I had help."

Buffy walked over to the table, and settled down in her lover's lap, wrapping her arms around him and giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

'You saved my life... again,' she whispered through the link, giving him a brilliant smile that warmed his heart straight through, 'And more importantly, my soul.'

He nuzzled tenderly against her neck before looking into her eyes once more. 'I owed you that. And so much more.'

They kissed deeply to the sound of a roomful of "Awww's" from their friends.

"And last, but most decidedly not least," the Host added, "Our fresh Spring bride has made a request. Faith, my sweet? Why don't you come on up?"

"SPEECH!" Xander bellowed as the Slayer climbed up the stage steps, eliciting an elbow in the ribs from his ex. "What? I want to hear why the Hell she would marry Spike!"

"I *so* don't!" Cordy snapped at him.

Faith ignored the outburst, stepping up next to Lorne and taking the mike from his hands.

"Hey, you guys. Thanks for the party. I know you all think we're nuts, but..." she shrugged, and pulled Spike beside her, giving him a nudge.

With a beleaguered sigh, the vampire rolled his eyes and stepped to the microphone. "While we were in Vegas, the Slayer dragged me to this stupid movie, and since I didn't buy her a present, she made me promise to sing this stupid murshy-arsed song with her the next time we came here," he recited, obviously from rote.

"Oh, God, he's gonna *sing*?" Doyle moaned, glancing fearfully at Angel, "He's better than you, right?"

"Hey!" Angel objected, dislodging his lips from Buffy's and giving her a wounded pout. "I'm not that bad, am I?"

Buffy's eyes went deer-caught-in-the-headlights wide. "No, of course you're not, honey. You sing fine," she declared half-heartedly.

Her mate frowned. "Gee, thanks. Yes, Spike can actually sing," he admitted reluctantly. "He got us thrown out of the National Opera House in Paris once for his rendition of "Carmen." But only *after* he got a standing ovation from the people in the next box."

"So anyway," Faith continued, "This is sort of a couply song, and... I hope you like it." Nothing happened for a moment, so she added, "That means get up and dance, Angel."

She nodded to the Host, who hit the button on the karaoke machine. The light strains of a ballad filled the air.

"Now *that's* more like it," Giles slurred, and staggered over to ask the Grandmother to dance.

Soon everyone was coupled: Oz and Willow, Wesley and Tara, Doyle and Cordelia, Giles and Emma, and Xander and Anya.

Buffy climbed off Angel's lap and gave him a deep, formal bow. "May I have this dance, handsome stranger?"

He grinned and let her pull him to his feet. "It would be my extreme pleasure, my lady."

They stepped out onto the dance floor, and Angel took her tightly in his arms as Spike began to sing.

"Never knew I could feel like this   
Like I've never seen the sky before   
Want to vanish inside your kiss   
Everyday I love you more and more"

God, she felt good; warm and soft pressed against him. Even these weeks later, he was still almost driven to tears every time he touched her. To think that they had once again come so close to having the cruel hands of Fate tear them apart...

Although... the more he thought about it, the more he had to wonder -- *could* they be separated? By *any* force in the cosmos?

"Listen to my heart   
Can you hear it sing?   
Telling me to give you everything   
Seasons may change   
Winter to spring   
But I love you   
Until the end of time"

He doubted it. Angel had always known, of course, what an indelible part of himself that Buffy was. How she had become the very foundation of his spirit, the wings of his old, battered heart, from the first moment he saw her. There was body and blood, too, where she was so deep inside him that even the demon, who loved *nothing*, adored her. It was no surprise to him that he couldn't live without her. He was bound ultimately to her in every possible way.

But even as they had slowly rebuilt their relationship over the past year... battled through demons both literal and metaphorical to be together, he had still harbored some small doubt, in that most broken part of himself. How could she possibly want or need him as much as he did her? She was light and life -- strength and courage personified -- what could he possibly bring to her that she didn't already possess?

Now, he knew.

"Come what may   
Come what may   
I will love you   
Until my dying day"

Even without a soul, Buffy too was still bound to him. Even after having been offered the simplicity of darkness, the haven of arms less encumbered by the heavy burdens of a bloody past and a daunting future... even then, she had wanted him. Needed him. And just as he had found the possibility of forgiveness for himself through their trial, he had also found the truth of what she had always insisted, but he had never quite been able to accept:

"Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place   
Suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace   
Suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste

It all revolves around you."

He was part of her, too. Not soullessness, and certainly not something as weak and petty as death, could ever keep them from one another.

"And there's no mountain too high   
No river too wide   
Sing out this song and I'll be there by your side   
Storm clouds may gather and stars may collide   
But I love you until the end of time"

The Powers had given his soul another test on its journey, and he had faced it as bravely as he was able. And oh... the reward. As he held her closer still, and the music soured, their hearts flew together on the wings of love's sweet certainty. Each battle they faced would be arduous... and without a doubt, they would sometimes stumble... maybe hurt one another, or themselves... but together, nothing could defeat them.

They could never truly fall.

"Come what may   
Come what may   
I will love you   
Until my dying day"

Someday, they would stand together, facing the very Hosts of Hell, and their love would call down the greatest power for Good in the universe. They would survive that battle, too... he had no doubt of that, now. And something deep in his soul knew that, beyond that great horizon, their ultimate reward lay.

He gazed down to find her smiling up at him, and he remembered the sensation of their human heartbeats pounding in time... the hope and promise of normalcy... of home and children... of growing old and dying together.

"Oh, come what may   
Come what may   
I will love you"

They would win, he and his love. And they would have it all -- their fondest dreams. For that... for the promise of sharing a finite lifetime with her... he could survive anything. Bear anything. Emerge triumphant over any obstacle thrown in his path.

With her love, all things were possible.

"Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place..."

"I love you," he whispered, "This moment, more than ever before."

Her smile widened, and the room lit with its warmth as she reached up and tenderly touched his face.

"You're obviously crazy," she murmured, her sweet hazel eyes flooding with happy tears.

"Obviously," he replied, and kissed all of the joy, love and hope he held inside him into her soft lips.

"Angel?" she said softly as they parted.

"Yes, mo gra?"

"I love you, too."

"Come what may  
Come what may  
"I will love you   
Until my dying day."

~~~~~

They celebrated through the night, until the vampires among them could scent the first touch of dawn, and the humans began to nod off, the weariness of the evening's excitement finally catching up with them.

Not to mention the fact that at least four of their members were so stinking drunk that they could barely stand on their own anymore. Willow and Tara worked together to hold Giles up between them; Cordy (who was well used to the task) supported Doyle, Spike leaned hard on Faith, and Wesley alternated between throwing his arm around Oz or Angel for balance, under the pretense of telling them how much he loved them.

Faith leaned away from Spike to speak to Buffy and Angel. "I think we should get this bunch home before we end up having to mop up a whole lot of puke."

"BAH!" Giles bellowed, "I'll have you know that I can drink a gr... great deal more than this without any *threat* of vomiting."

Angel, who wasn't feeling all that sober himself, replied, "We know you can, Rupert."

"You," the ex-Watcher slurred, pointing in the vampire's face, "You think just because you're immortal, and Irish, that you've a hollow leg. Well, I beg to differ!"

Willow and Tara had to lunge in tandem to keep their friend from collapsing before them.

"You know, maybe you all should reconsider any victory parties after the End Days," Lorne drawled as he began throwing chairs up on tables.

"Hell no!" Doyle blurted, "When we win the war... heh. Princess, that's a lotta doublya's."

"Sure is, babe," Cordy agreed, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"One way or the other, I think leaving is perhaps the best idea I've heard in some time," Emma yawned, "It's been quite a night."

"And we've got a long drive in the morning," Oz agreed, giving his mates a wink.

Both witches blushed deeply.

The group thanked their host and headed for the door, but Faith, Spike, Angel and Buffy held back.

"Hey, Greeney," the brunette Slayer called, "You never told us what you saw when we were singing."

The Host's lime-colored face split into a brilliant smile. "I didn't, did I?"

"No, you bloody well didn't," Spike griped drunkenly, "I didn't soddin' emasculate myself for a Grammy, you know."

"No kidding," Angel snorted.

"Why don't you just shut your fat yap, ya wanker?" the younger vampire barked.

His elder growled softly, "Why don't you just try to make me, *William*?"

The Host finally came to stand between them. "Okay, boys, cool it.," he interrupted. "We all know that bluster's just camouflage anyway." Ignoring the horrified looks of both demons, he went on, "What you've all just been through has clicked on a big cosmic power switch. You've got pretty much matching auras, now, and I'm thinking that means whatever comes next is pretty seriously nigh, if you know what I mean."

Buffy frowned at him. "No, we really don't."

"The signs, darlin'. The Bible says there's only seven, but anybody with half a brain knows there's a lot more than that. Kid Rock and "Survivor", being just two obvious examples. But the four of you, and the way you're changing, are more of them. You have a heavy tie between you -- two Slayers and two vampires -- viola -- the Gate. Your two Witch friends and their mutual werewolf have a heady Destiny thing going, as well."

Spike and Faith shared a leer. Angel shifted uncomfortably. Buffy gawked.

"Wait. Hold on. You mean... Willow, Tara, *and* Oz? They're like..." she gasped.

"Lovers, pet. Beast with three backs, I'd say," Spike chuckled.

The blonde Slayer's mouth dropped open. "But... why didn't Willow *tell* me?"

Angel gave her a comforting squeeze. "Remember how you reacted when you found out about Tara?"

"Well, yeah, but..." she began to object, then sighed, "Good point."

"What's that got to do with our Destiny?" Faith cut in, "I mean... so Red's gone kinky. So what?"

The Host shrugged. "Sorry, sweetie. All I know is what I see. Your collective energies are all kicking up -- why and/or how is something you'll have to ask your research crew about... once they sober up."

"I dunno why she wastes her time with you," Spike complained. "You're worse than a damn shrink -- never tell her anything useful..."

Lorne cocked an eyebrow at the inebriated vampire. "Oh, really? How's this, then, sugarcakes? *You've* got an aura now, too. Residual soul stuff, it looks like... and that's completed a circuit between the four of you that couldn't click before because you didn't have a soul. Is that useful enough for you?"

The blond scowled angrily. "I soddin' KNEW it! I KNEW hanging out with you lot was gonna get me in a bloody mess sooner or later!"

Faith put her arms around him. "You're still bad, babe, don't worry."

He gave his .//JESUS BLOODY H. TAP DANCIN' CHRIST!// wife the eye. "You're the worst of the bunch. First you tame me, then you make me fall in love with you, drag me to the damn altar, make me sing fucking *show tunes*, and now I've got soul scum on me? Why don't you just stake me already?"

The others laughed.

"Now who's a 'poncy, souled sap'?" Angel teased.

"You, ya fag! Oh... great. Jailbait alert, ten o'clock," Spike moaned.

Every turned toward the door to see Dawn just stepping through the metal detector.

"DAWN!" Buffy shouted, yanking away from Angel and rushing toward her younger sister. "What are you *doing* here? It's four o'clock in the MORNING! And you're walking the streets of LA by yourself?!" she grabbed the younger woman by the shoulder. "What are you thinking? How did you get here? And does Mom know you're here?"

"Yes, mom knows! Sort of..." the teenager replied defensively, "And I took the bus."

"The BUS?" Buffy screeched dragging the girl toward the door. "Are you NUTS? Oh... you are so dead, Dawn Summers."

Angel sighed sadly as he watched the bickering sisters make their exit. "So much for a romantic weekend alone."

Lorne elbowed him affectionately. "Wait until you have three or four of your own."

The vampire gave him a grin. "You know about that, huh?"

His red-horned friend winked. "Wesley *was* pretty drunk. And I've always thought you had 'Family Man' written all over you."

Angel turned his gaze back to he door, where Spike and Faith were just ducking out, and he could hear Buffy and Dawn arguing outside.

"I can hardly wait," he replied happily, and followed the rest of his family into the night.


End file.
